Fierce In Peace
by TwoClovedHooves
Summary: Eli Jannis is a kickbutt city orphan girl with a good roundhouse kick and, paradoxically, an appreciation for Trek. How does she react when strange circumstances place her aboard a REAL Federation starship?
1. Chapter 1

**Twenty-First Century Earth. 2007, to be exact.**

Eli Jannis was an orphan. A nearly eighteen-years-old orphan in the United States, which is the worst kind because nobody adopted older children and nobody in the U.S. of A adopted children from their own country, anyway. It was always some kid from Cambodia, or Sudan, or Tezekbekhistan, if that existed. She had long, dark hair that was often pulled up in a ponytail, showing every centimeter of her defiant face. Her shortish stature was solid, and she had worked to become strong and street-smart. She knew that soon, she would be out on the street with non one's mercy, and physical strength was the only thing that could keep things working to her advantage. (She demands of me a short description of herself, and will not let me go into detail about her life at this point or points previous. For, as she cleverly points out, this part of life would soon end.)

One day, as Eli walked down a side street of her native New York City, going back to the orphanage from school, she spotted a flash of yellow-black out of the corner of her eye, as if a giant wasp were running down one of the alleys. Despite her fear of giant wasps, Eli was interested, and backed up so she was level with the alley again, peering down it.

There was a woman on the ground, and she didn't look like she was going to be standing any time soon.

Within a flash, Eli was at the woman's side. Kneeling down, she saw that the woman was holding a shoulder that was getting bloodier and bloodier, and there was a bandage across the bridge of her nose, as if she had been in a fight before this one. And the teen could see why: from her right ear hung an ornate earring, with a cool little chain looped up to the crest of her ear. It was handmade, to boot, and she gave a low whistle as she estimated the price. There were several people in Hell's Kitchen who would pay a fortune for such a pretty earring.

Just then, the woman looked up into Eli's eyes, locking them with her own brown ones. Giggling, she said, "Your ogles are pretty."

Eli realized that this was probably Midwest speak for eyes. "You're in shock, you know."  
Eli did not consider her green-dark gray eyes to be pretty, even though she had been always told they were very striking. "What happened?"

The woman giggled again. "They wanted to take my earring. Couldn't let them take it. Can't take my Prophets away, no sir. Especially not since my Prophets are so very far away now…"

Eli was surprised. Prophets? That sounded…pagan. Which was kind of weird in this day and age. In fact, she had rank insignia: there was one little button-thing on the lapel of her strange jumpsuit. And there was that pin, which had a military-like arrowhead insignia. It looked valuable and a good steal as well, come to think of it.

"Shhhh," Eli soothed. "They didn't get any Prophets. Now, why don't you tell me all about these Prophets, huh, while we get you to the hospital, okay?"

Shock or no shock, the woman became very clear at the word "hospital," and the suggestion of her Prophets went clear over her head. Attempting to get up, then gasping and sliding back down again, she protested, "No…I've got a ship…waiting for me."

"Hmm." Eli considered the options for a moment. She'd rather not leave this woman all alone, and then spend a few nights tortured in her dreams about it. "Wait. I've got an idea!" she cried, rooting around in her backpack, and pulling out a cell phone. "We can call your ship and ask. But," she warned, dangling it, "You have to promise first that you won't tell anyone that I stole it, or it's to the hospital with you. And if you're just calling your gang buddies, then I'll hold you hostage. I've got a knife in my backpack." Eli meant what she said about the hostage part.

The woman, sweating slightly, gave a faint nod. "Fine…fine."

_Damn._ The woman obviously had something bad going on inside, or else she wouldn't be sweating over a wound that wasn't to her vital parts. She needed that help, and quick.

"Okay…tell me the number to call."

The woman's eyes fluttered wide, and for a moment Eli was scared that she'd forgotten it. Then, the woman said an odd thing: "Pull off my pin."

Eli goggled. "What??"

"Just do it." There was an ice to her voice that made Eli acquiesce. "Now…place it on the broadcasting part of the phone."

"…Why do I need to place a pin on the antenna?"

"Because I said so. And once it is, press it." Once again, ice made Eli cooperate, pressing the pin down. Almost immediately, the little pin emitted a sound that was between a beep and a click.

Eli decided that this was her signal to start speaking. "Hey! Anyone there. I'm Eli Jannis, and I;m here with someone called—What's your name?"

"Ensign Gildar."

"—Ensign Gildar. She's hurt bad. Got a stab to her shoulder, she's sweating…probably internal bleeding or something like that. She won't go to the hospital, but she says you've got help on your ship, so…oh, and hurry, please? I'm no doctor, I just found her in an alley and offered up my phone."

A male voice came back over, crackly like static, which was strange for a state-of-the-art cell phone. "Acknowledged. We'll…be sending some assistance. Inform Ensign Gildar to hold on. Ship out." The crackling ended.

Eli relaxed her hold, allowing the pin to slip away from the antenna. Good. She'd rather not have anyone die next to her in an alleyway. Never looked good to the CSI people.

But just then, the parameters of her adventurous sidetrack changed, dramatically, and all thoughts of the CSI flew right out with the garbage. At the opposite end of the alleyway from her, a man with a gun strode into view. Even from this distance, Eli could see the bright green sash tied around his arm. "Crap!"

"Wa…izzit th' help?" The woman was slurring words, her head nodding, and she looked like she would pass out any moment.

"That's a member of the gang Wolf Twenty-five!" Wolf Twenty-five was the local boss gang. Although they didn't have a particularly large territory, they were a very violent and very angry gang. If these were the ones who…

"Dey…dey said dat were who dey wazz. Th' people who were gonna steal my earrin'." Just then, the man, with a cry, pointed towards them, giving out a cry. Behind him other men, also with the gang armband, quickly came into view, and they all started trotting towards Eli and the woman.

Scrabbling desperately, Eli attempted to connect pin to antenna. For a moment, she just couldn't do it, and panic nearly flooded her. But then she pressed down, heard the beep-click, and almost before it could stop sounding she said, "Whoever you are, get us out of here, NOW! There are three gangmen, I repeat, three very angry gangmembers, jogging toward us, and oh, they're in for the kill. One's got a dagger, another's got a club…oh, that's a rifle, and the other's got a pistol. We need to get out, now!!!!"

Crackling came over and the male voice yelled "Grab Ensign Gildar NOW, and prepare for emergency rescue!"

Eli obeyed, putting a firm arm around the ensign's waist, and looping her backpack around the right arm, which was holding the phone-pin contraption. "Okay, you can rescue us now…"

Almost before she got the words out, Eli felt a tingle in her molecules, and the color blue seemed to fill every part of her body as she disappeared into a ray of energy. She didn't know it yet, but she had been beamed up.

All of a sudden, Eli felt like she was _existing_, as if for the very first time. The blue and its tingling faded from her, dissipating as quickly as it had come, leaving her alone to take in a rather fascinating sight.

Eli was sitting on a platform, illuminated from underneath by round lights, and by similar lights above. It was set in an alcove of a small room, it only other distinguishing feature a console, where another person stood, pressing buttons and informing someone or other that they had arrived. Then, what she had thought was a wall panel opened, and a pack of people with the color blue on their shoulders rushed in, waving small grey suitcases with the authority only doctors exude. The wall-panel-door swished just behind them, or would've if they weren't already at Ensign Gildar's side.

The leader of the pack, a woman with a rather unsightly black bowl cut, waved a shiny round thing over the ensign, that lit up and beeped. Looking down at what looked a lot like a very primitive Palmpilot, she proclaimed, "internal bleeding, severe blood loss, collar bone broken in several places." She turned her head to the person at the console. "Transport her to a biobed in the medical bay. The chief doctor can take over from there."

It was at this point that Eli noticed that this bowl-cut, woman doctor in blue had pointed ears. Pointed. Like an elf's. And, she noticed that they had ripped the tape off of Ensign Gildar's nose. She hadn't been in any fight. Her nose had _ridges._ It was crinkled, like the dead leaf of a tropical houseplant.

Eli's autonomic response was to knock herself out, and spare herself the shock until someone was capable of explaining the situation to her.

Eli awoke on top of a small, comfortable but terribly uncomfy bed. At first she thought she wasin the orphanage, and turned her head to the right to tell Jenna to stop reading that magazine and turn the damned light off.

But the person to her right wasn't Jenna. It was Ensign Gildar, unconscious but otherwise looking quite well for someone who just had internal bleeding when she last knew it.

Eli quit quickly recollected what had happened before. Hoever, this time she was able to pull herself together and control herself before she went unconscious again. However, she was on the edge of panic, and a panel showing her health stats on the wall behind her started beeping more frequently as her heart started shooting up by a couple dozen beats a minute.

Eli's panic only rose when another blue-shouldered doctor-person came into the room, which was empty otherwise, except for a few more of these strange beds. Eli's heart, however, settled somewhat when she saw that this person didn't seem to have any alien characteristics. At least, none that she could see, but it still allowed her to calm herself.

The doctor glared at her. "What are you doing, standing up on that bed _and_ turning your heart upside down?"

_I'm standing on the bed?_ Eli looked down to see that she was. She must've done it when she panicked. Feeling more than a bit sheepish, she sat down. "Well…er, you aren't an alien, are you?"

The doctor cocked his head, and seemed curious. With a little half-smile, he said, "How do you know that I'm not a facet of your imagination?"

Eli made a rather loud _phhhhpht._ "I'm not this-" she sweeped her arm to include the entire room, "-imaginative. That's why I read books, to feed off of the imagination of people who have too much."

The doctor smiled, and conceded, "Yes, I'm real."

"Are you…alien?"

The doctor scratched the back of his head. "Well…sort of. I'm human, but it's…there's a REALLY long story involved."

Eli smiled, in a creepy way that could shatter glass. "Would you please explain? If you don't, I will start panicking and destroying things."

The doctor, highly unnerved, wisely decided to tell her about it. "Well…we're from the future."

Eli nodded. "Okay. Not outrageous so far. Continue."

"We came here by pure accident. In fact, we're still not entirely sure how we got here, but we did. And, naturally, we sent a team down to reconnaissance. Make sure that this was Earth, the genuine article. We've met quite a few similar worlds in our travels, and it always helps to be sure."

"Like _Star Trek…_" Eli murmured. Then, out loud: "So, some of your people got into trouble?"

The doctor nodded his head. "We didn't anticipate gang violence in the area where we transported the ensign. Took us completely by surprise."

Eli asked, quite naturally, "How could you not know? If this is you planet, then you should know this place isn't exactly the world's finest right now. I bet it's still a slum in your time."

"Well…no. New York City dropped into the ocean during the Third World War."

"The so-called 'capital of the world' sank?!" Eli could hardly believe this.

"Err…yeah. Sorry. But," the doctor added, lifting up a finger, "by my time, we've eliminated poverty, so they wouldn't be slums anyway. And the capital of the Federation, at least, whic includes the world, is Paris, France."

"Uhhh…Federation?"

The Doctor brightened. "Yup. The United Federation of Planets, with the founding beliefs of having a say, enlightenment, and exploration."

Suddenly, Eli was struck with the significance of the situation. "Ummm…I don't think you're quite home yet."


	2. Time Travel Is Obviously Contorted

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek, any of its episodes, or any affiliated creations. I am just responsible for random jumps of imagination, a love for time travel in all its complicity, and the rockin' characters, particularly my alter-alter-ego, Eli Jannis.

Rated Somewhat Mature for maybe some cursing and the particular mention of lady's undergarments. Please, when the time comes, try not to snigger in that juvenile, this-word-is-funny-because-its-off-limits way. If you do, that's fine, just don't spend all day walking around, muttering the word under your breath and sniggering to yourself. People _just may_ look at you as if you're crazy.

Eli was sitting in front of the captain of the ship, Arandel, a rather nice lady with some pretty designs on her face and long chestnut hair that went down to her mid-calf. Or at least, Eli predicted it would, if it weren't wrapped around her head a few dozen times over. But even though she was rather nice, at this point, she was near screaming, and quite formidable.

"…so you're saying we're in an alternate universe, where our future is a _television show???_"

Eli nodded. "Since you obviously didn't know about the franchise before, it's a reasonable conclusion. At least you aren't in the mirror universe."

"Well, yeah…hey!" The captain started, and pointed a finger at Eli. "How could you know about the mirror universe?"

"Like I said, it's on the show. Or rather, shows, five of them live-action an one animated, but that one didn't last long. And ten movies, with the eleventh in preproduction. It's actually quite popular, you know, the whole 'humanity may one day overcome its stupidity and be nice for once' thing."

Captain Arandel eyed her suspiciously. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

Eli hadn't thought about this. Pausing for a moment, she considered. "Well…hmm. What could I do…Of course." She eyed the captain. "I assume you're monitoring the television signals coming from the planet?"

"Yes, naturally," Arandel replied, with a slight surprised sniff.

Eli, uncharacteristic to the human race as always, wasn't offended. "And what time is it?"

"1659 hours. Why exactly do you need to know?"

"Ah. If you could take me to wherever you're monitoring them?"

Captain Arandel stood, and with a slightly huffy air, walked out of a swish-door just behind her impressive Captain's chair. Eli, following, found herself in a large briefing room. On one wall, a console was filled with several different moving pictures from television. _House_ was featuring Dr. House abscond with a patient into surgery, _Lost_ was contorting its plot back on itself again, _Battlestar Galactica_ may or may not have been revealing the face of a Cylon, and on _Heroes_, Peter Petrelli had just blown up.

Eli quickly scanned the various screens, searching through the channels for the one she wanted. "Wait a sec…" Then, jabbing at one of the little screens: "There!"

The ensign monitoring the channel surfing enlarged the one she indicated, and out its sound on full. It was an episode of _The Next Generation_ called "The Inner Light."

Looking just behind her as the first few scenes were opening, Eli noticed the slack-jawed captain was still standing. She, personally, had taken one of the lounge seats, so she beckoned, "Come on, captain, pull up a chair, replicate some popcorn, whatever you'd like. This is going to take an hour or so."

The captain, to Eli's genuine surprise, complied.

Later, Eli was sitting in sickbay, waiting for Captain Arandel to revive from her dead faint. In the meantime, the chief doctor had decided to give her an examination. The doctor who she'd dealt with before would have done it, but he was too busy having serious mental therapy.

Eli found that, to her surprise, the chief doctor was a Vulcan, male and not even the same one that had rescued Ensign Gildar. She also learned, upon his introduction of himself as Dr. Sorick, that he had been the man on the other end of the radio, back on Earth, when she had been idiotic enough not to notice the very familiar arrowhead shape of the commbadge. His introduction was something like this:

"I am Doctor Sorick, and I shall be giving you a medical examination. Would you please take a seat on the biobed. For the first stage, I only require that you do not get up or perform any major movements," he said, with the same sort of dead-eyes-straight-forward look that the actors Leonard Nimoy, and later Tim Russ, had often given to their Vulcan characters when they were being at their most Vulcan-like.

_It's strange, to think that for all the people on this ship, that all really happened, or will happen. To them, it isn't creative genius, it's just the way things are,_ Eli thought as she hoisted herself onto the biobed. It was, as she would have put it, freaking SWEET! Especially now that she was meeting a Vulcan. They were the greatest, if inadvertent, example that someone with a brain can be sexy.

This particular Vulcan, as he picked up a tricorder and started waving the flashlight thing over her, was not bad looking himself. His bowlcut suited him, and his face while stern and still, hadn't been had at by the ugly stick. Eli found him rather satisfying, even though she'd die before she'd admit it.

Sorick eyebrows frowned suddenly, drawing together in the closest physical representation a Vulcan could get to showing the something was wrong. He stopped waving the flashlight thing over Eli and started tapping the viewscreen of his tricorder, as if it were a computer displaying an error message.

Eli felt compelled to ask, "Something wrong, Doctor?"

Absentmindedly, Sorick murmured, "The tricorder is registering a Tarkasian razor beast. It is obviously malfunctioning." He placed the tricorder down, and picked up another from the tray, giving Eli a quick scan. His eyebrows frowned again. "This tricorder is registering a bowl of petunias." Then, he asked a strange question: "Are you wearing any aluminum on your person?"

"What?" Eli asked, obviously confused.

Sorick explained, "In the time from which we come, standard aluminum as you know it is no longer used in the making and crafting of objects, due to the invention of transparent aluminum and other more useful alloys. This tricorder was most likely never programmed to compensate for the powerful refractive abilities of standard aluminum. If you are wearing any aluminum objects, they may be interfering with the scan, and producing these results."

"I don't think so…" Then, Eli blushed as she realized what it could be. "Yes, yes, I am, I just remembered. This is kind of embarrassing…"

Sorick's eyebrow rose a fraction. "If you require a change of any clothing you are wearing, you may use any of the private rooms in the sickbay." It seemed that his Earth history classes had paid attention to the underwire bra. Either that, or he was confusing his centuries and believed that she was wearing a corset.

"No, no. It's just that it'll look a bit illogical that I'm wearing this thing." From underneath her baggy sweatshirt, she pulled out a necklace, with a pendant attached to it that was none other than the IDIC emblem.

Both Sorick's eyebrows raised, very high. If he hadn't known about the alternate-universe situation, he might have even shown emotion. As it was, emotion nearly seemed to break through his face. "An IDIC pendant…where did you get this?"

Eli explained, "In our universe, the creator of the original show made some of these and sold them. I found this one up for bid on the internet. I had a foster parent at the time, a rich one, and she wanted to show me how nice she was, so she bought it for me. I ended up hating her, but I kept the pendant. Besides, I believe in the possibilities of IDIC."

Sorick, in spite of himself, reached out and touched the pendant, stroking the crescent-moon-shaped part. "That is… an advanced though, for a human of this century." Then, coming to himself, he backed up, his ears flushing green.

Eli had read enough Vulcan-related fanfiction to know this was the equivalent of a blush for Dr Sorick. Smiling slightly to herself, she gently lifted the necklace off her neck and placed it beside her on the biobed. "You can scan me safely now. I guarantee that there's no more aluminum on me."

Sorick quickly picked up the tricorder that he had been using first, and proceeded to once more scan her over with the flashlight thing. He stared intently at its screen, and slowly, his ears faded back to their normal pallor.

_That tricorder…it's of the same design as they had on the _Voyager_ show,_ Eli discovered as Sorick scanned her. Glancing around, she saw that all the other medical equipment was also very similar to what the Doctor had in the _Voyager_ sickbay. Come to think of it, the uniforms were the same, as well as the commbadge design, with the squarer background piece and pointier arrowhead. So they were from around the time _Voyager_ disappeared, then. If only she could remember when that was, she might feel a bit better. She _really_ didn't want to tell them anything that would happen. According to the show, the Department of Temporal Investigations at Starfleet was a real pain in any equivalent of the Gluteous Maximus. Which meant she couldn't really talk to them about anything.

Sorick finished his scan quickly, since this time the tricorder wasn't registering plant life. Placing it near a computer and setting them up to link together, he turned back to Eli. "I must now do a more thorough examination of your DNA and molecular structure. Please lie down on the biobed, on your back. You may continue to speak, but please refrain from any dramatic motions with your hands."

Eli did as she was bid, and for a moment, watched Sorick input commands into a console at the foot of the bed without even looking at it, while his eyes monitored the screen above her head.

To her surprise, he was the one to strike up the conversation. "You mentioned a foster mother. You are an orphan?"

Eli shrugged, which was difficult to do while lying down. "I'm not entirely sure. I know my mother's dead from drug abuse, but my father left her before I was born, and no one's been able to track him down. I did have a grandmother, but she was too sick to take care of me. She died, anyways, when I was five. I've lived with a few foster parents, yeah, and sometimes they seemed interested in adopting me, but before you knew it…" she paused, not enjoying the memories, "I would do something bad, and they'd sent me back because they couldn't handle it. And besides, once you're a teenager, no one wants to adopt you any more."

Sorick seemed puzzled, even as he kept his eyes on the screen. "That is illogical. Adolescents should be adopted most, as they are the closest to become members of society."

Eli explained, "But a child hasn't had time to become set in their ways. The adoptive parents can teach them in their own ways, and teach them their own beliefs."

Sorick understood. "Ah. It is to easier influence the next generation of adults that this is done. That is logical."

_Close enough_, Eli thought, giving up on the Vulcan. She paused, then decided to go off on a tangent at a sudden whim. "This may be a bit too personal, but did you grow up with both parents?"

Sorick, still faithfully watching his screen, nodded slightly. "I did. Both my mother and father were alive for my entire adolescence, and are still alive on Vulcan, as last I heard of them. Why do you ask?"

Eli blushed. "I suppose that as an orphan, I just think about those kinds of things."

Sorick said, "If it is any consolation, my son shall at least know what it is to be without a mother."

Eli couldn't help feeling shocked that the doctor had a son. He looked so young! "You have a son??"

"Yes, named Tulan. He is on Vulcan, with my parents." Sorick's face went tight. "His mother, my bondmate, was aboard this ship, and perished in an away mission shortly before we were brought here. My son does not yet know."

"I'm so sorry," Eli said with earnestness. She felt a little distressed that she had made the Vulcan emotional. She hadn't been thinking about his feeling, which she should've even as repressed as they were. "I don't mean to pry into your life. I am sure you…regret your bondmate's passing, and not being able to inform your son."

Sorick's face relaxed, but only a little, and his gaze away from Eli kept firm. "I do. But it is logical to assume he believes both of us dead. In a sense, he is already aware."

"Well, that's just grim." Eli couldn't help being honest.

Sorick gave her a look, and she was happy to see that in his confusion at her comment, his emotion was fading away. "I thought that humans, like Vulcans, had tact. It seems that theory is erroneous in your case."

Eli smiled. "I tried having tact once. I didn't like it very much, as you can see."

Sorick replied simply, "That may be. However, you have taught me more about humans in ten minutes than I have ever known in my entire life."

When a Vulcan says that, you know you've done something to be proud of.

Eli, fully examined, measured, questioned, and conversed, was at Captain Arandel's side when she awoke again. Thus she got the privilege of seeing the captain embarrassed, something that was nearly impossible to see, and which she was unlikely to view again. She would've liked to take pictures, but she was sure that the captain would've confiscated it had she done so.

Captain Arandel, personally, was quick to pull herself together. "How long was I unconscious?"

"22.19 minutes, Captain," Sorick replied in that exacting Vulcan way. "You were in quite a shock, and you damaged yourself, staving off unconsciousness for a full hour. You may even endure some negative mental after affects."

The captain held her head. "My people aren't much, but we've had contact with Betazed for a long time. We have control over our minds, thank you. Although, it does hurt a little…"

"Hypospray?"

"Yes, that'd be nice," Captain Arandel said, and bared her neck as the doctor injected her with some painkillers. "Aah…much better. Now I can deal with the situation at hand." She shot a look at Eli. "It seems you were correct. I'd recognize that particular _Enterprise_ incident anywhere; it's one of my favorites to replay on the holodeck. We don't have the captain's experience, unfortunately, but I do like to sit and listen to him play that flute."

Eli grinned. "It's a beautiful song, I know. The episode is actually one of the most popular of that entire series."

Captain Arandel couldn't help but be sidetracked. "What's the most popular episode of all of these series?"

"Umm…" Eli Jannis wondered, also sidetracked. This was a tough one. "I think…the most well-known episode to the general public is 'The Trouble With Tribbles,' from the Original Series. No need to explain that one. And as for among Trekkies…ooh, not sure. Orginal Series? Probably 'Balance of Terror,' or 'City On The Edge Of Forever.' Next Generation is probably the one you saw. Deep Space Nine? 'Badda Bing, Badda Bang,' and 'Trials and Tribble-ations' were both _really _cool. Voyager, ooh, haven't seen all of that… Eh, I liked 'Tsunkatse,' personally. And Enterprise…well, the only one I really liked of that was 'Impulse.' Vulcan vampires are _really_ creepy." She shuddered.

Everyone stared at her, drool falling from their metaphorical mouths as they followed from the Delta Quadrant, at best. They all had to agree, however, that Vulcan vampires would be very creepy, except for Sorick, who raised his eyebrow and wondered what sort of thing a zombie was.

Yeah, I know, kind of weird place to stop a chapter...but I just saw that someone's reviewed my story, and positively! Thank you, kind stranger!(Sorry, but your name was too complicated for me to remember what it was.) So, I just had to get some more story out there.

Also: I got this idea when I was looking through the Star Trek fanfictions on this site and noted the eerie lack of bad, juvenile fanfictions where the author inserts themselves into the story, interacting with the main characters and generally beating canon with disruptorsthe size of planetoids. So, I decided to create m own character who was a fan of Star Trek and would interect with big, although not necessarily canon, characters, and try to make it good without ending up with a dead end. I fully expect the mystery ship to have its arse fully parked in our universe in our time for more than a little while, btw. Just so you know.


	3. Chapter 35: The Contorted Conversation

Fierce In Peace, Chapter 3.5: The Contorted Conversation

Disclaimer: I own all the characters who are actually doing/have done things, and I may or may not own their ship, but I do not own their universe. That, rather, is what has sprouted from the intellectual property of the highly advanced human Gene Roddenberry. The show "Star Trek" is copyright the evil Paramount, and rights to syndication are in the hands of CBS.

* * *

While the commander found everything his captain was saying rather fascinating, he questioned the sanity of it to the nth degree. "So…we're in an alternate universe, where we're…a holovid?"

Captain Arandel seesawed her hand in the human gesture that usually means you're almost right. "Well..the 21st century equivalent. Television. But, yes. We're science fiction, to them."

Captain Arandel was sitting at her briefing room table, answering the questions of her senior staff: Commander Henson, her very human, somewhat middle-aged Number One; Lieutenant Commander Jovit, a female Trill with a knack for sitting in shadowy corners without being noticed; Lieutenant Boral, the Tellarite, food-loving chief engineer; Lieutenant Sh'tas, the –female?- and light-hearted Andorian counselor; Lieutenant Lella, the shrewd Bolian tactical officer; and Lieutenant Dolan, the cloud-minded chief science officer, one of those aliens that looked so much like a human that he was beginning to resent the comments about it. It was late at night, and everyone was cranky at being awoken, but she knew they'd want to hear what she had to say. Even if it did sound insane.

"What, that supernatural, superhero crud? Huh!" Boral snorted his derision.

Eli offered, "Well, in this century, science fiction is also about the future. Aliens, spaceships, the like."

Everyone gave her a look that said, _you are being far too insubordinate for a primitive human._

Except Lieutenant Sh'tas. Instead she asked, rather eagerly, "Are we a good show?"

Eli smiled. "'Good' is an understatement. So is 'famous.' I think 'pop culture history and a show that has inspired millions worldwide to work for a better tomorrow' is a better term."

Sh'tas's antennae wiggled up and down, a sign that she was very pleased. "I like this universe."

"Popularity of this show aside," Commander Henson interjected, with a glare at the counselor, "Can we first discuss how sure we are that this show even really exists?"

Lieutenant Dolan nodded. "It does sound like some sort of contorted Romulan plot. But they've never seemed interested in time travel…maybe the Cardassians?"

Eli subjected them to the are-you-idiotic glare. "I'm not Romulan, much less a Cardassian. Doctor Sorick's scanned me thoroughly, and he can't tell that I'm _not_ a reptile."

Doctor Sorick nodded in that Vulcan way he had. "Yes. She was proven to be human, if after the tricorder had registered her as a Tarkasian razor beast and a bowl of petunias."

Everyone was a bit confused at that, but Captain Arandel was the first to voice it. "Err…what's this about a bowl of petunias?"

Sorick took on his deadpan stare. "She was wearing standard aluminum on her person, captain, which confuses tricorder beams."

Eli nodded. "I was wearing this necklace," she explained, pulling the IDIC pendant out from under her shirt again. She held it up, showing it to all those who wished to collectively gasp, which they did.

Then, for some reason that couldn't quite be explained but was obvious in its reason, they all looked sideways at Sorick. He noted this, and after a moment chose to answer their silent question with, "No, I did not give her that pendant. Apparently, she has supported IDIC since long before we entered this universe."

Commander Henson, for the moment, was quite satisfied that they were in an alternate universe, as he was fairly sure that Sorick wouldn't lie to him. So, after a moment of contemplative silence, he asked, "Do…the Beatles exist in this timeline?"

Eli suddenly liked him much more than she had the moment before. "Yes. I love their music."

"And does December 8, 1980 mean anything to you?"

Eli looked at her hands. "Unfortunately, yes. New York City, John Lennon. There's a stone that says 'Imagine' in the park across from the hotel. That was a sad day."

The commander's gloomy face trumpeted _I was kind of hoping that he was still alive so I could meet him_, endearing him all the more to his fellow Beatles fan.

"So…assuming we're in an alternate universe, which is likely, how in the name of the Bajoran Prophets did we get here?" Lieutenant Lella asked, entering the conversation for the first time. Now everyone had had their bit save for Lieutenant Commander Jovit, who usually pushed her bit as far away from herself as possible anyway.

"And more importantly, how come we can't wipe her mind and send her back down to Earth where she belongs?" Boral was huffy.

Sorick replied, with a slightly raised brow, "I have mentioned prior to this that the equipment required for such an operation is damaged beyond our ability to repair in this time period. Her memories are her own."

"Besides," Eli added in one of those saving-your-skin-sudden pieces of dialogue, "I can be useful. None of you knows what this version of Earth is like. There have been some major global issues lately, and you don't want to be caught being ignorant about them. And to hold any sort of conversation, you'll need to know some pop culture."

Captain Arandel leaned back, a testing gleam coming into her eye. "Then what would you suggest to an away team, to help them be more effectively disguised?"

_Hmm…_Suddenly, Eli was gifted with a brilliant idea. "You could go around as Trekkies!" she exclaimed, almost without thinking about it.

Captain Arandel's eyebrows knit. "Come again?"

"Dedicated fans of the TV show," Eli said ecstatically. "We call ourselves Trekkies, or Trekkers. You could all have phasers, commbadges…even your uniforms could be explained away. Plus, you can back it up with real, guaranteed-truthful know-how of the Star Trek Universe."

A smile started to dawn on the captain's face, as she caught with the concept. "Hmm…sounds promising. Commander Henson?"

_So THAT'S his name!_ was Eli's errant thought.

Commander Henson said, candidly, "Well, we'll need to know a bit about this Earth's timeline, but, otherwise…it is the best idea that's been proposed in these past three weeks, and given this new information, probably the only one that'll work." He turned to Eli. "What can you tell us about this timeline?"

"Well, we've not made as much progress as your timeline did. NASA's still flying the same, no-gravity control shuttles, and we've just barely outlined the human genome. So, no Eugenics Wars, obviously. Instead, we have September 11, 2001," Eli added, with a bitter note to her voice.

Sorick checked his mental computer. "Our history records no event of particular significance on that date. What is it that happened?"

"Terrorists hijacked four airplanes. One, the passengers managed to fight back and get it to crash in a field in Philadelphia. Another was flown into the Pentagon, in Washington DC. The other two were flown into the World Trade Center in New York City. Both the Twin Towers collapsed, and…a lot of people died, let's put it that way."

Sorick, even by human standards, looked appalled. "Who would commit such an illogical act?"

"Man called Osama Bin Laden and the terrorist group he heads, the Al Qaeda. Of course, America being the best at doing things completely and utterly wrong, ended up invading Iraq, instead of finding him in Afghanistan."

Captain Arandel was puzzled. "Why would you attack a country that was uninvolved?"

"Eh, the government used the people's patriotic momentum to achieve its agenda. Now, we've got an entire country depending on our troops for what little of it that is stable to remain that way, while insurgents kill them off and the soldiers are twisted into staying longer then they're supposed to in that horrible place. Plus, nobody can find Bin Laden. Basically, everyone in the country knows that the policies were majorly screwed up."

"Okay then," Lieutenant Commander Jovit proclaimed suddenly, standing up. She was smiling, and that, in combination with the cheery voice, was very creepy on the Trill officer. "How about we continue this in the morning, so no one has nightmares, hmm?"

"Umm…but you guys need to figure out what you're going to do with me. If I'm not back in…" Eli did figures in her head, "an hour, they'll call the cops. And while they don't exactly love me to death, they're good people, and I don't want them thinking that I got kidnapped by some molester or something."

Captain Arandel, whom despite being knocked out for a while was half out of her seat in expectation of her bed, paused. "That would be a problem. So, we can't put her back, at least not without feeling like monsters, and we certainly shouldn't just have you leave without notice. So where does that leave us?"

Commander Henson suddenly volunteered, "She could be adopted."

Wh-what'd you say?" demanded Lieutenant Commander Jovit, reflecting in her voice the amazement that was echoing around the table.

* * *

Author's Note: Yes, this conversation seems contorted, but that is the title. This is what happens when you can't think of how to resolve the problem you've got at hand. I happen to make all the sense of a walnut as well, but that's life. I'm a bit drained form a film project I have to do for school, so I haven't had the time, nor the ability, to come up with anything better than this. Hopefully, I'll get my batteries recharged soon, though, although this is a pretty big project that I have to do all the editing for, not to mention that I have another project, this one in German, which I also have to devise part of the script for, film, and edit. However, there's one good thing about final projects: they're the most definitive sign you can get that summer vacation is upon you. So, I'll try to do what I can, but I might end up on a semi-hiatus. Updates will definitely come in the summer, at the latest, and I WILL try to make this conversation more credible. Also, thank you, Tossan (or Tosan or Tos'san, whichever it is), for reviewing! I like reviews. They make me tingle inside.

Until next time--TwoClovedHooves


	4. New Twists

Disclaimer: Don't own Star Trek, mon. If you don't know who does, though, you're probably reading the wrong fanfiction.

* * *

_For such a strong demeanor, her psychological threshold is low_, Sorick noted as he monitored Eli Jannis, who had, once again, become unconscious. That was four times in less than a day, with only one, Ensign Gildar's, resulting from injury. It was amazing how much shock could affect the humanoid nervous system. 

Taking about adoption had been too much for Eli, who had, Sorick had seen, already been sent spinning in her skull by the discombobulated meeting. He himself had been about to point out how illogical everyone—yes, that included himself—was being and that they needed to settle upon the subject of Eli, and stay with it, when the commander had spoken. He had been straight enough, although too straight for such an emotional subject for those who were emotional. About then she fainted.

Sorick was most puzzled by this subject. Eli was a very fierce person, one so that, although he had known her but a little, he knew she was the closest thing he had ever met to the dark, emotional beast that lay deep in the heart of every Vulcan. Yet she had found a way to keep it under an iron will, while still allowing it to fuel and assist her actions. Sort of like Romulans, really, only Sorick would never compare this young human with a Romulan. For all her lack of scruples, her core was good.

There was a moan, issuing from the private room he had assigned to Ensign Gildar. She was at last awake. Sorick had to attend to her. With one last glance at the patient before him, he strode out to tell a Bajoran, one that would be less than clear-headed and highly emotional, what she could and could not do in the next 2 months. He fully expected to go through something much like Dante's hell before it was through.

Eli Jannis, for reasons beyond any doctor's explanation, was able to go directly from a dead faint to deep sleep, which were basically the same for her yet altogether not usually connected. So, she slept through the night in sickbay, while plans were carefully laid out for her future.

Luckily, those that wished to inform her of these plans caught her just as she was waking up. Eli was never at full capacity for at least a half hour after waking, so she didn't realize that she had been left out of a decision-making process. Decisions she liked, yes, but decisions about her all the same.

Commander Jack Henson and his wife, Lola, were beaming happily, or at least Lola was, because commanders aren't allowed to do much beaming, lest they make the officers under them scared. "It was all arranged. We beamed down in—well, modern clothes, I suppose—and adopted you! They didn't even ask to see you."

"Not all that 'mazin'," grumbled Eli. "Prob'ly assumed I was out in the car, waitin', cos' I didn't wanna see the inside of it 'gain. Th' orphanage, that is." Eli rubbed her eyes. "Ken the replicat'r make Coca-Cola, by enny chance?" Her tongue didn't function much, either. "S'rry if I'm seemin' rude, but I'm not reeelly 'wake yet. 'M happy, really am."

It turned out that the replicator could indeed make Coca-Cola. Eli sat on the biobed drinking a cup full, allowing it to summon her back to the world of the living. "Well, this is a big surprise. Nice one, though. I like nice surprises." She looked at Lola as if seeing her for the very first time. "So you're his wife? You must be a very cool lady."

"Thank you," she said, somewhat awkwardly.

Eli flashed her a grin. "Sorry about a moment ago. I'm not much of a morning person. Can I call you Lola? It feels a little too strange to call you Mom."

"Sure," Lola said, relieved, smiling slightly as well.

"In that case, call me Jack," Commander Henson interjected. "It feels a little too strange to be called 'the commander' by my adopted daughter."

"Okay, Jack and Lola. Shall we have breakfast?"

The Hensons, although they could have any kind of food, still had normal breakfast. Eli was glad to see this, and happily took seconds of the bacon, and a heaping of scrambled eggs. It had a slight off taste, as was signature of a replicator, but it was otherwise perfect morning food. "This is good!"

Lola smiled. "I'm glad you like the replicated food. To be honest, I'm a horrible cook."

"Oh, that's fine. I had to bake cookies in school once, and I set off the fire alarm when I accidentally set the oven to clean. Ovens, when you set them to clean, go to a really high temperature, essentially charring any gunk into something that's easier to clean off," Eli added as an explanation. "The cookies were just like that, and smoking like crazy."

Commander Henson chuckled. "Well, at least you didn't set a tablecloth on fire, like I did at my mother's birthday."

"_Really?_" Eli was goggle-eyed.

Commander Henson grinned, and began to retell the tale. "Well, we had the cake and—"

It was around then that they all figured out that his words would precede the beginning of one long, gruesome adventure, as a dull

WHADOOOOM of somebody firing on the ship resonated into their ears. The ship rocked, the normal lights flickered, and the red alert klaxons, with accompaniment of flashing red lights, made itself heard. For a moment, Eli thought, _The _Enterprise_ is in trouble! I hope we see who it is before the commercial break,_ until she realized that this wasn't the _Enterprise_, and she definitely wasn't watching any TV show.

Commander Henson immediately tapped his commbadge. "Henson to the bridge. Report status."

The voice of Captain Arandel came back, slightly distorted by the sounds of shouting and sparking cables that came with it. "An alien vessel is attacking, Commander. I need you up here."

_More aliens? But this place won't become interesting for years, _Eli thought, even as she went to the fallen Lola's side. She turned her adoptive mother over to find that she had been knocked unconscious.

"I am on my way," Commander Henson replied to the captain even as he noticed his wife's condition. He hesitated a moment, worried eyes on Lola, yet voice addressing Eli. "Could you take her to sickbay?"

Eli nodded. "Right," she said, even as Commander Henson ran out the door. Felling slightly helpless, she hefted Lola to her feet and, grabbing an aimless-looking civilian passing by her doorway, dragged her adoptive mother to sickbay.

Even with blue-shouldered medics tending yellow-shoulders and red-shoulders and blue-shouldered scientists and blue-shouldered medics attempting to treat themselves, Dr. Sorick managed to spot Eli and her new civilian friend dragging Lola through the door. He walked up to them.

"Ms. Jannis." Curt nod before eyeing the patient. "Mrs. Henson has been injured?"

Eli nodded. "She got thrown to the floor with the first shake, and she's unconscious."

"She will be treated as soon as is possible." He accepted Lola into his hands, hefting her as if she were a backpack with only a few comic books and the occasional pencil. "Now, it is advisable that both of you return to your quarters."

Eli balked. "It may just be me, but you seem short on staff. I may not be able to work a hypospray, but I can hold a cloth to a wound as well as anybody here." Her fellow civilian nodded.

Sorick considered a moment. "Attend to the leg of the ensign to your immediate left, Eli. Mr. Warton, please come here and help the nurse with this patient." He deposited Lola deftly into the female Vulcan from earlier's arms, before returning to work.

Eli followed Sorick's orders, relieving a blue-shouldered nurse. She was surprised to see Ensign Gildar opposite her. " Ensign Gildar! Um, hello. Wait…shouldn't you be on one of those beds?"

Gildar smiled at Eli, briefly, before focusing her attention back to pressing on a head wound. "I've you to thank for being out of that bed, actually. I'm told that if I'd been in that alley fro much longer, I might have had a bed in the Hall of the Prophets."

Eli chose to give her a wordless grin before yielding the leg wound to a nurse with a dermal regenerator. She then moved on to a nearby Andorian lieutenant, pressing a handy cloth to the blue blood oozing out his side. _Strange_, she thought. _I've never seen real blue blood before._ It was slightly cool and slightly gross at the same time.

Just then, the ship chose to rock again, the fiercest one yet, and various blue shoulders yelled as hands slipped, hyposprays were nearly injected into themselves, and the tricorder flashy thingies flew all _over_ the place. Eli somehow managed to get wedged under a biobed.

Sorick, naturally, merely swayed a little, returning immediately to his work. Other blue-shoulders, following his professionalism, scrambled for their equipment then sprang up, desperate that their patients might have been worsened by the rocking. Eli was about to get out from under the bed when it happened, suddenly and swiftly, with almost no warning except for a crackled "INTRUDER ALERT! INTRUDER AL—" over the comm system, by then far too late to be helpful.

Romulans materialized in sickbay.

* * *

Author's note: I know, it took FOREVER, but I got it! I have more already typed up, actually, but this was just too good of a cliffhanger. I won't be leaving you hanging for long, however, as I fully plan to type out a chapters worth ASAP. As for the other things I need to address: 

Redtail Rathan, you are my hero. Seriously. You're AWESOME.

Also: to appease you awesome people, I have drawn a pretty picture of Eli! Go to this link: had to be cropped to fit the bandwidth, so you can't see the rest of her, but she had feet, and arms, and jeans and everything. Lucky for you however, I have more such pictures in store, and in abundance for the next chapter, which is rather interesting, and reveals a lot of stuff, including a shocking fact I devised from a conversation with the glorious Redtail Rathan that--quite literally--has saved my plotline and given me a glorious excuse for the issues with certain parts of chapter 3. Stay tuned!


	5. Adjustments

Chapter Five: Adjustments

Disclaimer: Star Trek not mine, sadly. Awesomeness characters all mine, though.

* * *

The Romulans were cool and collected, even with triumphant smirks on their faces. "Federationers! Make no moves, or get vaporized."

Eli was quick to comply, freezing in place even though the biobed conveniently sheltered her from the Romulans' view. Everyone else did similarly, except for a few people too busy thrashing in pain, whom the Romulans decently ignored. Sorick was the only exception to this role, choosing to make a suicidal step forward, his hands palm up, empty.

The Romulans—barely—didn't shoot him. One in front, a male who seemed to be of higher rank than the others, asked irritably, "What do you want, _Kiste'mra?_" (_Kiste'mra_ is derogatory term the Romulans made up for Vulcans. Literally translated, it means "passionless stick.")

"We need to treat our wounded," Sorick explained. "Some of them are grievously wounded. They will die if we do not attend to them immediately."

"No" was the short, curt reply from the Romulan officer. "You will be tending to our wounded. You may care for your own," he added with a malicious grin, "when you have finished healing every scrape and bruise we have deigned to relegate to you."

_Which means the critical condition patients are doomed to death._ Eli sympathetically looked upwards, at the woman officer slowly bleeding her life away on the biobed above.

Sorick considered the terms. "I do not believe we have any other logical options open to us."

The Romulans' faces twisted at the word _logic._ The commander stepped forward, placing his disruptor on Sorick's temple. "You can take your logic and shove it, Vulcan," he hissed.

Sorick stood there, level with the Romulan's gaze, and Eli thought she could see challenge building in his eyes. _Odd, for a Vulcan…_ But the Romulan officer didn't see it, and was being maddened by the lack of emotion. _I need to do something, or else he'll be space dust._ So, gathering her courage and all the clouds of emotion that had begun swirling around her head, she got out of her hiding place. She stepped right up next to the Romulan, rage clear on her face.

"How _dare_ you?" Eli seethed. "How _dare_ you draw your weapon on him! The Romulans must be a _proud_ and _noble_ race," she spat, "to have such beings as you, who have to aim disruptors at the dying in order to feel secure about your prowess!" (She was trying to give it a Romulan spin.)

But the Romulan, rather than becoming indignant as Eli had wished, gave a little half-smile, and looked her over in a way that was decidedly uncomfortable. "So there _is_ a little spark among the Federation herd." At least he was distracted.

This was not, however, how Eli would have liked to distract the Romulan officer. She flushed, eyebrows thundering at him even as she instinctually crossed her arms. "Hey, no favors here, Romulan. I'm a minor."

The Romulan gave her one last, slight look before staring off undeterminedly in the distance. "Pity." Then he took a breath, and resumed issuing his commands to the silent sickbay.

Sorick, under cover of the Romulan's speech, was able to sidle up next to Eli. "That was a rather illogical move, Miss Eli."

"I'm just Eli, remember?" she murmured back. "I wasn't trying to buy time, or anything. I just wanted him to get distracted enough that he wouldn't remember that he had been about to vaporize your skull. You are the chief doctor, so it was, in fact, a very logical move."

Sorick raised an eyebrow. "I see your point."

"Then you agree that the rest of the ship has probably been taken as well? That this isn't some sort of charade?" Eli wasn't entirely sure what that charade would be, but she knew Romulans liked charades.

Sorick shook his head slightly. "Romulans do not gamble on such important things as the matters of kidnapping starships. They do it confidently and deliberately, with much back up and a well-established plan. The rest of the ship has been similarly incapacitated."

"So…how'd they get on the ship?"

"I suspect that the shields buckled. That would explain the particularly violent impact we felt just before the Romulans materialized. I do wonder, however, how—"

Sorick abruptly cut off his mutter as the Romulan ended his speech, which neither the chief doctor nor Eli had been at all attending to, a potentially problematic situation. This was of particular problem for the Vulcan, who, while having at least a partial memory of what was said, did not have the emotional ability to just shrug it off and muddle along as best he could.

At this point, another Romulan came in, a female grunt. She looked around, disruptor cocked. "This area secure?"

The Romulan officer nodded. "We are secure, Centurion. What is the condition of the other levels?"

"There is some resistance in the astronomy lab and the mess hall, but there will be an announcement made from the bridge that will calm them, soon. Our Commander has also issued orders that any and all _kiste'mra_—" The Centurion glanced at Sorick, "—are to be immediately restrained and prepared for transport to our own brig."

The Romulan looked sideways at Sorick, an evil smile creeping across his face. "Acknowledged, Centurion. You may continue."

The Centurion smiled and ducked back out the door again.

Immediately, the Romulan officer turned on Sorick. "You." He cocked his weapon at the doctor. "Gather the rest of your kind, including any part-bloods. Try any sort of self-sacrificing, _logical_ act, and your minor friend here dies." He gestured at a Romulan behind him, who immediately trained her own green disruptor on Eli.

_Damn it._ Eli wasn't very happy about having a gun pointed at her, especially by a Romulan who was, quite literally, twitching with eagerness to shoot something. _Why didn't I stay out of sight?! Oh, yeah. I thought I was saving Sorick's life. Well, _that_ was sure a useless gesture._

Sorick, stiff-backed with what could be described as something very much like dignity, gathered the female Vulcan nurse, and another who Eli had sworn was human. The group stood tall in front of the Romulans. "We are all of those with Romulan blood in this room."

The Romulan smiled. "Vulcans. So…accommodating, at times. Centurions? Use ionic bonds on them." He gestured to three Centurions who, smiling, approached the Vulcans assembled before them, pulling glowing purple ropes out of pouches at their belts. With Eli's life in danger, the Vulcans obviously found it logical to acquiesce to their requests.

The Romulan tying up Sorick pushed the doctor's sleeves up slightly as he began to tie the glowing rope around the other's wrists. All of a sudden, the Centurion was doing a double-take, and saying slightly dazedly, "Sir…I've found something."

"What?" The Romulan officer was irritated that his smooth, dramatic taking of prisoners was being interrupted. "That you're tying up a Vulcan?"

"Vulcan…plus something extra," the Centurion cryptically replied. He thrust one of Sorick's arms out to the side and pulled the sleeve up to the Vulcan's elbow. From any angle, it was clear to all that there were small, triangular, shingle-like ridges going up the top of his arm.

_Vulcans don't have that sort of markings. _Eli's eyes widened. _Unless…_

The Romulan officer realized it too, disgust rising in his face. "Lift the hair from his forehead."

The Centurion did so with vigor. Hidden under Sorick's hair was triangular ridges, making their way up the middle of his forehead.

Sorick stood tall, eyes fixed, as before, at a point just above the Romulan's head. "You did request that all partial Vulcans be brought before you, correct? I am three quarters Vulcan, so I would fall into that category."

_That explains a lot_, Eli thought. _He's slightly more built than I would have expected in a Vulcan. And he's had a few moments where he's been so close to real emotion...and at it._ She recalled the incident n the briefing room, where he had been appalled at the concept of terrorists flying planes into buildings, to take other human lives. _That wasn't just his Vulcan belief that all life is sacred. His Klingon instincts probably were screaming out at such an unhonorable tactic of war._

_But it also makes him very dead,_ Eli realized. If anything was known about Romulans, it was that they had genocidal tendencies towards their Klingon neighbors. She suspected the fact that he was three-quarters Vulcan and only one quarter Klingon would just make the Romulans happier about disposing of him, in the most public and painful way they could devise.

The Romulan officer chose merely to say, "Centurion, you will be much rewarded for this find. Now, tie him up. The Commander will want to see this…prize."

Subcommander Jergon, along with two Centurions, led the part-Klingon _kiste'mra_ up to the starship's bridge, eager to show the commander his prize. If they could merely get this specimen back to Romulus, the entire crew would be hailed as heroes.

But in this time period, the name Jergon did not hold weight in their beloved Empire, and neither did that of Commander Tikaral. They did not have the credit, the trust that had been established with their government in a time forthcoming to the present one. A trust that had been betrayed.

For what wasn't the first time and hat wouldn't be the last, Subcommander Jergon wondered at the sanity of his commanding officer. The initial idea, that they capture a Federation ship, had been appealing. But they had somehow ended up in the past, more than fifty human years before the fatal moment the human species met the Vulcans. The subsequent attack on the Federationers made sense; but to transport a boarding party, phasers cocked, into a sickbay...the Subcommander may not have shown it, but he had been deeply impacted by the fierce girl's words, which echoed the whispers of suspicion in his head. He did not think it right, to pull weapons on those who were dying from honorably combat. But Commander Tikaral insisted, and when she insisted, she got what she wanted. And then, to find such a thing as this, this half-breed, almost as if the Commander had known…

_No,_ Subcommander Jergon thought, shaking his head to clear it. _If the Commander had known something, she would have told me. However, I will still keep an eye on Tikaral. She must not be allowed to compromise us._

The Subcommander was a very good Romulan.

Twelve long hours after the Romulans boarded the ship, Eli was in the Federation brig, jam-packed in a cell with others that had been in sickbay. She wasn't happy about it. She was even less happy that Sorick, admittedly the only person on this ship she knew well enough to call a friend, was not there with her, instead aboard a Romulan ship and most likely enduring all sorts of perverted torture techniques. Fortunately, the anger did not make her blind enough to not insure that her IDIC pendant was kept well out of sight.

At least she had Ensign Gildar, who was being very optimistic about it all. "Now, I've never really bothered to think about it, but there's got to be some sort of way to get out of this thing. Sure, it was designed by the best architects in Starfleet who did have at their disposal very good psychologists who were able to advise them about the tendencies of the imprisoned mind, but no construction is utterly flawless."

"Gee, don't I feel my hope rising even as you speak." (Eli was, like many youth of her generation, highly sarcastic.)

"Well, I'm just trying to keep things light," Gildar huffed. "It's no help to get all agitated, because then you'll make all sorts of mistakes and feel horrible to boot. At least I'm not doing the Bajoran Chant of Captivity. It's several hours long, and can be repeated indefinitely. But, if you'd really like—"

"No!" Eli practically screeched.

Gildar broke into a grin. "Just kidding. There's no such thing, anyway."

Eli couldn't help but smile even as she threw a piercing glare at the ensign. She began to retort, "Well, I—"

Whatever Eli would have said, she stopped saying it as the doors to the brig swished open, admitting a tall Romulan woman, backed by several Centurions. The woman had a very commanding posture about her, and the others of her kind all deferred to her. This had to be their Commander.

The Commander, for reasons still unkown, zeroed in on Eli almost immediately. She took a few long, sedate strides to stand just a few inches from the forcefield. She peered down at the strangely dressed human.

Eli did not like being examined, especially by tall people. "What?" she snapped. "I'm sure you've got something to do that's far more useful than stare at me, Commander."

The Commander looked only mildly surprised. "You are a fierce one, aren't you, human? You are much like I was at your age."

"It's Eli. I assure you, we're nothing alike."

"I am Commander Tikaral. Well, now that we're introduced, why don't you just be a good little human, and answer a few questions of mine, hmm?"

Eli snorted. "Commander, if you think I know anything of value to you, you need to start looking for a new brain, because the current one is malfunctioning like crazy."

"If it is so insane a concept, then why were you seen fraternizing with the half-breed?" Commander Tikaral was suddenly stony.

"Ever heard of a friend? When you have one, you tend to talk to them. Maybe you should try it, Commander."

Commander Tikaral chose then to withdrew. "Make sure this human is made to remove those disgraceful garments," she ordered a Centurion, before striding back out the door, head held high.

Ensign Gildar helped Eli to sit on one of a few small benches, before she collapsed onto it. "Woah, Eli! That was some fearsome wordplay."

"Really? I was too busy being scared out of my wits to tell." Eli put her face in her hands. "Next time, it's your turn."

"Hey," Gildar cried. "You're the one with the talent for it! Me, I'd end up getting myself vaporized, and then I wouldn't be able to help you get out of this place. You can't abuse an engineer's mighty talents when they're dead, you know."

"Really? Hadn't realized." Eli laced the sarcasm in thick. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to take a nap." Eli promptly fell asleep.

Ensign Gildar smiled, and sat down next to her fellow in rebellion. _You sleep, little fierce lady. You're going to need all that power to help set things to rights._

Eli Jannis, bleary-eyed, took the out fit given her without question and, with a mass of women officers acting as her curtain, changed out of her jeans and t-shirt, which were by this time rather smelly. When she finally bothered to look at herself, she was wearing dark pants and a tunic, with a slim belt, an it looked rather flattering on her, plus a bit revealing. Either Romulans possessed a heretofore-unknown fashion sense, or the strange Romulan officer from sickbay (the one who'd for some deranged reason thought her attractive) had gotten to choose what she would wear. Since the first option was highly unlikely, and the second very much more likely, she was decidedly grumpy, as well as being mostly asleep.

Ensign Gildar didn't care a smidge. "So. Now that you're up, we need to plan our escape."

"If you want me to think of something, you'll need to wait a while, because right now a tribble could invent a better escape plan than me." Eli groaned. "When do we order breakfast? I need caffeine, and right now I won't even care if it's a cup of coffee I get."

"We get the _Romulan_ version of breakfast in an hour's time. The best you can hope for is something not poisonous to humans."

"In that case, I think I'll make up an escape plan now." Eli was a bit more alert at the mention of poisonous food. "But first, shouldn't we try to make contact with the others? Figure out if anyone else has an escape plan?"

"Every time we've tried to even say 'hello' to the people in the other cells, the Romulans bark at us to shut up, and hand signals would be just too obvious. So, we need to give them a message that isn't really a message, if we want to say anything."

Eli had a sudden, devilish, awesomely random 21st century idea. "Hey…know any 20th century Earth rock? Perhaps by a band named Queen?"

Ensign Gildar sort of squinted, looking off into the distance. "Well…the only 20th century rock song I know is 'We Will Rock You.'"

"You've hit the nail on the head. Now, how many other Starfleet personnel know that song?"

Gildar caught on, and smiled. "Everyone at least knows the stamping part. It's a regular to play before Pareesi Squares tournaments at the Academy."

"Well, then, let's recreate the pre-tournament feel for our Romulan hosts, shall we? Let's get everyone else in on it."

Eli and Ensign Gildar quickly spread the word around, spreading enthusiasm with each murmur. Apparently, medical students found Pareesi Squares fascinating in its physical and mental brutality, so many were well acquainted with the song. Before long, the entire sickbay cell was assembled, facing the forcefield outside their cell.

The Centurion on duty eyed them with suspicion, unsure what insane thing Starfleet meant to do next. The other cells looked on just as curiously, but with a good deal less avarice. None of them could guess the insanity that would ensue.

"1, 2, 3!"

Two slaps thighs, one clap. Two slaps thighs, one clap. Two slaps thigh, one clap. Two slaps thigh, one clap, then a repeat as Eli and a few others sang out:

"Buddy, you're a boy make a big noise, hey

Playin' in the streets gonna take on the world someday

You got mud on your face

You big disgrace

Kickin' your can all over the place

Singin'

We will, we will rock you

We will, we will rock you!"

The others were quick to pick up, smiling and singing along, or doing the thump-thump-clap if nothing else. The Centurion was, meanwhile, more than a little disconcerted as they continued:

"Buddy, you're a young man, hard man hey

Shoutin' in the street, gonna take on the world someday

You got blood on your face

You big disgrace

Wavin' your banner all over the place

Singin'

We will, we will rock you

We will, will rock you!"

The Centurion called for backup over the intercom, but his prisoners only sang louder:

"Buddy, you're an old man, poor man hey

Pleadin' with your eyes—" Eli yelled louder than the others, changing the wording slightly, "ain't gonna make yourself some peace someday

You got mud on your face

You big disgrace

Somebody better put you back into your place

Singin'

We will, we will rock you

We will, we will rock you!"

The song ended just as the Romulan officer from sickbay (yes, Subcommander Jergon, but Eli doesn't know that) rushed in, disruptor drawn, reinforcements right behind. All he found was a rather giggly but otherwise silent group of prisoners, and a very frazzled-looking Centurion watching over them. He relieved the Centurion of duty and went about his business, as if nothing had happened, which to his point of view it hadn't.

Something had happened, however; the prisoners had exchanged a message. Now, everyone on the Federation ship but the Romulans knew that Eli and Ensign Gildar were trying their best to help everyone escape. The hopelessness many of them had felt after being ushered at disruptor-point into their own prison had been relieved, and now everyone was in whispered discussion about how they would take back their ship, even the civilians.

The Federation was adjusting to the Romulans, and when The Federation makes adjustments, you duck and cover. Too bad nobody was in the mood to tell the Romulans.

* * *

Author's Note: ...Yes, yes, shocking reveal, I know. Sorick is now in very, very deep trouble.

Okay, so: the pretty pictures I promised are uploaded into a computer. Unfortunately, that computer is not the one I'm using right now, so it's not up yet. However, soon they will be, and you can go here: http://queenzebra. Just open my gallery, and you'll see them all.

Redtail Rathan, I know that your idea was half-Vulcan, half-human, but this is kinda-sorta the equivalent, considering how overtly emotional Klingons are. I credit the idea to you, though! Yay Redtail Rathan!

And YAY, Tosan, for reviewing again! Reviews make me feel warm fuzzies all over.

Next up: We see What On Earth has happened to Captain Arandel and the senior staff, as well as a checkup on Sorick, who will not be having fun at all, I'm afraid. More plans are made, and I can't guarantee whether or not there'll be more singing. It's really at the bidding of Eli and Ensign Gildar. So, see ya soon:)


	6. Concerning Captains and Their Brandy

Disclaimer: Don't own Star Trek or anything else that is referenced in this chapter. I just mess with them until their brains crack with trauma :) I do however, own Eli, Sorick, Ensign Gildar, Captain Arandel, Commander Henson, Lola Henson, Lieutenant Commander Jovit, Lieutenant Boral, Lieutenant Sh'tas, and any other actual character :3

ON WITH THE SHOW!

* * *

Captain Arandel and the rest of the senior officers had been in a staff meeting when the Romulans started firing. Subsequently, they had all run to the bridge, and been caught like sitting ducks when the shields fell and the Romulans materialized. With a tall Romulan woman training her disruptor at the captain's head, they had all been eager to comply. Now, they were in the Romulan brig.

"Damn Romulans!!" Captain Arandel raged, slamming her hand against a wall. 

"It doesn't help anyone when you curse, Captain," Sh'tas the Andorian counselor remarked. She was preoccupied, rather than being emotional about it all, fixing her white hair so that it would once more lay flat on her forehead, after being severely disturbed by the Romulans.

Lieutenant Boral of Engineering remarked, in a very Tellarite way, "Oh, it helps me, counselor. That's twelve glasses of the finest Saurian brandy you've got and counting."

"Twelve?! Why I—" the captain barely restrained herself. "I was fairly sure we were up to about six."

"Well, actually, we're up to about…forty-two or so. But I thought I'd relent a little, seeing as the Romulans will have already taken their fill." Boral had a cockeyed smile.

Lieutenant Commander Jovit, who had tried not to show glee when she found the corners of the cell to be darker than Federation ones, remarked from her retreat, "The captain's best brandy will be gone well before we have a chance to get it back. I suggest you ask for the best of another alcoholic beverage, lest she has only the '63 left."

"Hey! The '63 is good!" protested Arandel.

Boral looked genuinely alarmed at the thought of drinking the '63. "Captain? I think I'll trade the brandy for that Romulan ale you keep hidden behind the mirror in the briefing room."

Captain Arandel was surprised. "How'd you know I kept a jar there?"

"I _built _that compartment, dear, for _my_ ale. Imagine my surprise when I find someone else's there. Had to stash mine somewhere else."

"Could we stop talking about ale, and more about how we're going to escape?" Commander Henson interrupted irritably. "No one will be drinking ANY ale if we don't do that, at least!"

"You are acting like Lieutenant Boral would, if he was not busy earning glasses of ale," Sh'tas noted. "It is unlike you. Why are you so tense?"

"Maybe because I left an unconscious wife and a newly adopted daughter to go to the bridge, and now I've not a clue what's happened to them!" Henson practically screamed.

"Well, Eli has a good bit of determination about her."

"One that could get her vaporized." Henson shook his head. "I just--"

They all froze as the door to the brig slid open, and two Centurions came in, Sorick between them. None of them could see hime properly, but he looked like he was limping a little. Their captors drew disruptors, and keeping Captain Arandel in their crosshairs, took down the forcefield, threw Sorick in, and raised the forcefield yet again.

Sorick immediately slumped to the floor, and, slowly yet deliberately, rose to his feet just as the Centurions left. Then he lifted his eyes.

The senior staff gasped slightly. Sorick's face was an example of hatred being vented with cold precision. His left eye was blooming steadily from purple to black, as was his right cheek and various finger-shaped spots at the bottom of his neck. He had several tiny, nearly non-existent scrapes everywhere that could be seen, and the Romulans had even dared to trifle with his hair, hacking his bangs in a sideways emo cut that clearly revealed the smallish ridges on his forehead. Of note was the fact that both Centurions had double black eyes and were limping more heavily than their prisoner, and that just beyond the door another Centurion lay sprawling, the victim of a neck pinch. But, this was expected of Sorick; he may have only fought in self defense like a Vulcan, but he did it with the ferocity of a Klingon.

"You're roughed up," Jovit commented from her corner.

"I had noticed, Lieutenant Commander," Sorick replied tightly, obviously in a bad marginal-mood. "But I reciprocated." He turned to his captain. "Sir, twelve Romulans will be, if they do not stress their injuries, a few days in returning to their duties, sixteen will be out for several hours, and thirty-seven will not be conscious for another half hour, after which they shall have a headache for at least one day, if not more."

"That's some tally," Captain Arandel replied, impressed. "Good work, Commander. TO what extent are _you_ hurt?"

"I will be fine," Sorick said, even as he stumbled slightly on his way to a hard metal bench.

"No, you don't," Captain Arandel sternly admonished. "Just because you're the patient doesn't mean that you can brush your injuries aside. How bad is it?"

"I have several large bruises, a good number of small cuts, and one graze down my right leg that is impeding its function," Sorick replied with deadpan stare. "Like I stated previously, I will be fine."

"What about now? What if the crew retakes our ship, and we have to run somewhere to escape this one? Would you be able to keep up without being in pain?"

"I shall eliminate the pain," Sorick merely stated, sitting cross-legged on the little bench. He iummeditately went into a trance, fingers up in front of his face, muttering words under his breath.

The others, out of respect for him, removed themselves to as far away as they could from Sorick, which happened to be Jovit's corner. Jovit wasn't very happy about this, but she relented for the sake of the Vulcan, who had shown some military prowess after all.

"So they've discovered his Klingon blood," Captain Arandel muttered to the others. "That leaves us in a situation: he won't kill them because of his Vulcan principles, and they'll most likely leave him alive for a public execution on Romulus, so they can be hailed as heroes. That is, if this is their proper time."

"You think they were trapped in the time rift, like us?" Boral hissed.

"Either that, or they created it to trap us in this time," Jovit pointed out.

"Why would they do that?" Sh'tas murmured. Her voice was slightly less argumentative than the others. "Our vessel has no political or strategical significance."

"That's true," the captain mused. "But we do have a bit to do with time, or the past. It also seems interesting that the Romulans were so easily able to defeat us. Could we have a traitor on board?"

Jovit murmured, "They're from the future."

"That much is obvious," Boral huffed. "No Romulan ship of this period would be a match for our weapons and shields."

"I mean a time that comes after our own," Jovit snapped, a little too loudly. She lowered her voice, and continued. "I would say…30, 40 years to have weapons of that power. Besides, their configuration differs from that of other Romulan ships. They've a few aspects that are quite similar to those of Federation vessels."

"You're implying things, aren't you?" Captain Arandel shook her head. "Sometimes you're as slippery as a Cardassian, I swear."

The door opened again, so everybody, excluding Sorick, whirled around. The tall Romulan woman entered, with her disruptor aimed at the back of—Eli?

"What're you doing here?" Captain Arandel demanded, her eyebrows furrowed. "You are _definitely_ not high-profile."

Eli gave a slight smile. "Exactly. I convinced the Romulans that I knew absolutely nothing, so I couldn't possibly be used by us prisoners as reconnaissance. Can't notice significant stuff when you don't know what it is."

"How'd you do that?" Jovit demanded.

"They allowed me to try and replicate what I wanted to eat for breakfast. How I got overcooked alligator's tongue, I've no idea, but that was convincing enough." Just then she noticed Sorick, and her breath pulled in, sharply.

Somehow, Sorick knew he was the one being noticed. Opening his eyes, he got up and walked over to the forcefield. He had already reduced the pain so much that he only limped once. "Greetings. How is the rest of sickbay?"

Eli blinked rapidly. "Oh. Right. Well, mostly we're fine. Everybody unconscious got shunted into Cargo Bay 2, I'm told. That includes Lola," she called to Commander Henson. "Far as I know, she's just fine. Untreated, but fine."

Commander Henson's relief was visible. "Good. That's…good."

"What of those who were in critical condition?" Sorick was very to-the-point.

Eli saddened slightly. "I'm sorry Sorick, but I've no idea."

Sorick nodded, slowly. "There is no need to apologize. You have given me what information you could."

Eli could tell he was concerned, but she chose not to point it out. His Vulcan pride had probably already been slashed with the hacking of his hair. She didn't need to lower it anymore. "Actually…the cell where they dumped all of us from sickbay started a sing-along."

Sorick's brow raised. "Sing-along."

"Yes, a sing-along." She looked him dead in the eyes, trying to tell him _this is important, so you better listen._ "We sang 'We Will Rock You.' It's a 20-th century Earth song; I'm told it's still popular to play at sports games."

Sorick wasn't getting it, anyone could tell. But…Commander Henson stepped forward, commenting, "Interesting song choice."

"Well…we thought everyone's spirits could use a lift, you know?" She gave them both a big wink.

Sorick's face was dawning with the realization _The song is important, somehow._ He didn't seem to know why, though.

And Eli couldn't tell him, as Commander Tikaral stepped forward. "Human, social time is over." She aimed her disruptor.

Eli made a face, then, slowly turned and walked out with the woman. She turned around, once, to look into Sorick's eyes, this time crying out, _Everything is going to be okay, right?_

Sorick, for a moment, was struck still, as if by a thunderbolt. Then, he gathered himself and turned to Commander Henson. "What is the significance of the Earth song?"

"It's about putting down pretenders and standing your ground," Commander Henson replied with a half-smile. "She's telling us that they're fighting back."

Jovit smirked. "I admire the subtlety. Do you think they really sang it?"

"If they did, they probably spooked the pants off of any Romulan within hearing distance. No one likes it when their prisoners start singing; it makes them look like they aren't really prisoners."

Boral snorted. "That fact you have right, Trill."

Then the Romulan ship rocked, Captain Arandel cursed as she tripped over Boral, and he was so busy trying not to be between the captain's legs that he forgot to count it.

Eli had just been teaching Twenty Questions to Ensign Gildar when something squawked over the Centurion guard's communicator, and he was suddenly running out of the room, leaving the prisoners alone.

"Ooookay then, looks like now would be an awesome time to plan that escape, don't you think?" Eli asked the ensign beside her.

Gildar nodded. "You mind doing the honors of bringing this court to order?" She gestured at their fellow inmates, whom were all yelling desperately across the gaps between their cells.

Eli stood up, cupping her hands around her mouth. "OY! BE QUIET AND SIT DOWN, ALL OF YOU!"

The Starfleet members of the crew were immediately obedient, used to taking orders in some form or another, but the civilians, of which there were a good many, were ignoring Eli faithfully.

"HEY! YOU GUYS, TOO! DON'T YOU WANT TO BE _OUT_ OF THESE FREAKING CELLS?!"

The civilians were suddenly silent.

"Thank you," Eli said in a normal voice. "Now, first we should try to figure out why the guard ran out of the room. For all we know, his commander was ordering him to bring a firing squad in here. So—"

Eli abruptly stopped talking as a shock went through the ship.

Captain Arandel was suddenly wide awake, sitting up abruptly. She had a splitting headache, and the walls were Romulan green. She cursed as she remembered being surprised by a male Romulan in her briefing room, and getting clonked over the head with the butt of his disruptor.

"That's one glass of Saurian brandy, Captain," Boral called out. "I trust you remember our arrangement."

Turning to give her chief engineer a sharp retort, the captain almost immediately forgot it as she noticed she was in a Romulan cell with her _entire_ senior staff. At least they were all alive, she thought. She beckoned Commander Henson, whom abruptly stopped pacing went to stand beside her small metal bench.

"Yes captain?"

"Apprise me of our situation."

"The senior staff and the engineers are here, although we've no idea where the engineers are being kept. Everyone else is back on our own ship." His face was tense.

Arandel eyed him. "…You're concerned about something else. Your wife, or Eli?"

The commander sighed, "Both. I left Lola fairly badly wounded in sickbay with Eli at her side. And Sorick didn't get to sickbay, so he doesn't know either."

Captain Arandel glanced at Sorick, who was looking off at something no one else could see. "No wonder he looks so upset." Now that she looked at them, she could that almost everyone was upset. Jovit was brooding in a corner, Sh'tas wasn't cpunseling anyone, and the rest of them were frantically trying to deactivate the forcefield on the cell. The exception to the rule was Boral, whom was busy singing "1000 Bottles of Saurian Brandy On The Wall."

To add to the overall sense of drama, Eli was suddenly dragged in door of the brig by a Centurion. He deactivated the forcefield, giving a dirty look to the innocent we-weren't-trying-to-break-out-no-sir officers, before throwing Eli in and reactivating the forcefield, then stamping out.

"Wha—" Eli shot a look at the Centurion's back. " I have _no_ idea what that was about. I—"

She would've said more, but Sorick chose at that moment to wrap his arms around her and kiss her, so her mouth wasn't really free.

* * *

Author's Note: Dun dun duuuunnnn!!!! Cliffhanger again! And a confusing last bit. don't worry, all is explained in the next chapter.

By the way, I do NOT think it is advisable to drink. I don't necessarily attack those who do, however, because to my reasoning beer is a better vice to have than, say, heroin. I simply don't plan on ever drinking it, is all. Also, I advise very much against drinking and then driving a starship. Tends to have disastrous, fly-into-the-sun-and-cause-a-deadly-chain-reaction-that-destroys-all-life-in-the-system effects X But seriously, drinkingnot cool. I'm just using it as a device for humor and conversation.

--TwoClovedHooves


	7. Explanations Sort Of

**Chapter 7: Explanations. Sort Of.**

WARNING: This chapter is kind of confusing, and jumps around a bit, plus there's lots of long explanations and stuff and not as much action, so you may be so confused and bored that you lose all sanity. just so you know.

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek. I own Eli and Sorick and all the other various strange people that are in this story.

* * *

Eli pulled back after a moment of shock slowly dripping into her brain, looking around at everyone. "Now I've no idea what _anything_ is about." 

Sorick cocked his head. "What do you mean, Eli?"

"Well, personally—" Eli extricated herself from Sorick's arms, "I don't think I know you all that well just yet." Not to mention the mind-blowing concept of a Vulcan, even only a mostly-Vulcan, kissing someone in public of his own will.

Sorick looked slightly confused, which meant of course that he was _very_ confused. "But we are married."

Eli goggled. "_Married?!_ We've known each other for less than three days, and at no point do I recall getting married. Hey…what happened to your bangs? And your injuries?" She pointed at Sorick's haircut, which was suddenly in a neat, un-hacked trim, and his face, where there were no longer any swelling green bruises.

"I do not understand. What injuries would you be referring to?"

"The ones that the Romulans gave you, after they found out you're part Klingon!"

Eyebrow raise. "They have not injured me, for they have yet to figure out that fact."

"What? I saw it happen!"

Captain Arandel decided to intercept at this point. "Hold it. What was this about having known Sorick for less than three days? I'm not very good at math, but I was under the impression that you had known each other for almost eight years now."

"Trust me, there has not been eight years, and I am fairly sure that at no point in time have I gotten married to this man." She waved her hand at Sorick.

"Maybe she has amnesia," Boral suggested.

"Hey," Eli said, remembering the episode 'Amok Time' of the original series, "Doesn't Vulcan marriage include a mental bond, where they can read each other's minds? So if I were bonded to Sorick, wouldn't he be able to read my mind?"

Sorick stepped back a little, as if he had been physically pushed. "She is right. I cannot feel her mind." He suddenly felt something no Vulcan had felt since the time they had become logical: that he was very, very stupid. He had been so relieved—so emotional—to see the person he thought was his bondmate that his logic had been tossed out the proverbial airlock. Now, to his deep embarrassment, he could see that this indeed was not his Eli. _The pon farr is taking control,_ he realized, and was flooded with horror as he saw that he would need his wife to help him ease it very soon, or be forced to kill in order to insure his own survival.

This Eli couldn't read his mind, so she was busy with more trivial matters. "Did you guys figure out how to get back?" Seeing silent and gloomy faces, she filed that away with a _no_ and turned to something nearly as important as Sorick's survival, namely how in heck she'd gotten here. "Um...Well obviously, there's been short-range time travel of some sort, for me to wind up here. Let's see…I was in the brig of the other ship, when the ship got rocked, and then I was materializing in the Romulan transporter room."

"What were you doing in the brig?" Commander Henson asked with concern.

"Being held prisoner by the Romulans." Seeing them react in surprise, Eli said, with a little more snap to her voice, "So what? You are, too!" She hated being stared at, and it was happening a lot to her lately.

"Romulans didn't attack eight years ago," Arandel objected. "At least, not—" her eyes went as big as saucers, "—in our timeline."

Boral noticed something. "That would mean she's also from an alternate universe, since each timeline has its own. And, I recall that unexplained forces moved us to a different universe and time to meet up with Eli in the first place."

"Then it would be logical to assume that these are not merely coincidental events with no relation to each other," Sorick said, his scientific curiosity overwhelming his desire to be inconspicuous in his current condition. "Therefore, this bending of space and time must be controlled by a living being, one with an agenda against this ship. Most probably the Romulans, or a person allied with them."

"That would make the most sense, but the Romulans were allies to the Federation in our present, to fight the Dominion. They need us, badly. Why would they attempt something they know will disrupt that alliance?"

Sh'tas spoke up. "I believe you will find Jovit has the answer." She gave the lieutenant commander a look that would make lemons seem sweet in comparison. "After all, she

"Let's put it this way: her official records state that her birthday was thirty-two years or so ago. That's a lie." Sh'tas was usually as sweet as a gumdrop, but she looked mad as hell as she said, "Our lieutenenant commander will be born about five hundred years from now."

* * *

MEANWHILE, back in our original timeline, Ensign Gildar Rathana (for that was also her first name here) was severely confused. Just as the ship had jolted Eli, saver of her life and one of the most stupidly brave people she had ever met, had disappeared for a moment.

_What the—_the ensign had begun to think, when Eli was back, as if Q had grabbed her for his amusement, taken a millisecond to change his mind, and put her back again. Of course, Q had absolutely nothing to do with it; he didn't really care about humans much yet, since they had such a dreary way of dying quickly in open space. No, the forces at work here were much less evolved, and playing with things they knew they shouldn't have. Eli was just a rather bizarre side effect that would kick them in the can later.

Meanwhile, Eli was looking around her, with a wary face that said _All Romulans will be dropkicked on sight._ Despite this, her voice was calm and cool. "I don't suppose they meant to put me here." Then she looked over at Gildar.

The engineering ensign gasped a little as she saw Eli's face. It had changed, somehow, in the disappearance-reappearance. She was older. The traces of child that had still been in Eli's face were gone, her stance was more sure in itself, and the green/dark gray eyes Rathana had said were pretty were wiser, keener, as if in that one moment the human had undergone years of experiences, both good and bad. In one word, even though it's cliché, she was a woman.

Older-Eli regarded the ensign, eyes confused. "Why are you wearing an ensign's rank?"

Gildar fingered her single pip. "Because I am an ensign."

"No you aren't." Eli looked at Ensign Gildar. "You haven't been for ages." Her eyebrows furrowed with thought, and she studied her subject closer. "Wait a sec—you look younger. Like you did when we first met. Why is that?" she murmured, partly to herself.

"Errr… maybe because Bajorans don't age much in two days?"

"Two days?! What do you—" Eli abruptly cut herself off, smacking her head and groaning. "Crap. Time travel."

Ensign Gildar was acutely aware of everyone in the brig staring at them, but decided to ask the embarrassingly stupid-sounding question anyway. "What do you mean?"

Older-Eli sighed. "I'm from your future, as I just realized. About seven years, actually." She looked around, noticing everyone's eyes on her. She shifted nervously, the first Eli-like thing she'd done since arriving. "Was the other Eli just here? With you?"

Ensign Gildar decided to go along with Older-Eli's statement, since it was the only explanation she was currently getting for this new batch of headache-creating insanity. She nodded. "Yes."

"Oh, that's bad. That would mean the Doppelganger effect replaced her with me, unless…did she disappear before I appeared?"

"Yes, actually." Ensign Gildar was rather frightened now. She hadn't known that humans could read minds! No wonder she'd failed Humanoid Biology at Starfleet Academy.

Older-Eli sighed with relief. "Well, at least that means that the younger me is alive, most likely in my time." She winced suddenly. "And will she ever be confused if she bumps into Sorick."

A man cried out from another cell across the way, "Whatever! We can figure this all out later. First we've got to bust out of here, like the younger—who are you, again?"

"Eli." She looked both annoyed at being interrupted and embarrassed at being caught going off on a tangent _again_, which put her face in such a strange position that Ensign Gildar was hard-pressed not to laugh.

"Right. So we need to bust out, like the younger Eli was saying. If we retake the ship, we can use _technology_ to figure out what happened, and use _technology_ to put everyone where they belong."

"The younger me has more guts than I remember, to want to take on the Romulans," Older-Eli murmured to herself. Aloud she said, "Alright. Let's get started."

* * *

BACK IN OUR DEAR, CONFUSING FRIEND ALSO KNOWN AS THE ALTERNATE TIMELINE, Subcommander Jergon had summoned up the courage to address his commander. They had met in the briefing room of the Federation ship. 

"Yes? What is it that you so urgently wished to discuss?" Commander Tikaral asked coolly from her position in the captain's chair.

"I-I want to know what's going on," Subcommander Jergon said, with all the courage he could muster. His commander was a very formidable woman, one he did not want angered at him. "The entire crew is confused as to how we were transported into the past, yet you will not order an investigation. Then, there is the Federation ship we were chasing in our present, and you order an attack against a ship powerful enough to destroy us in our present, and we find that this version conveniently happens to be from our past, and we are easily able to conquer it, rather than the reverse. There is more than coincidence in this."

"You think that I have some hand in all of this?" Tikaral asked, her eyes as sharp as the dagger at her belt. "That is a serious grievance. You suggest that I have lied to my crew?"

"'To be Romulan is to withhold information,'" Jergon quoted, while praying silently that he would have enough Romulan oiliness to say what needed to be said. "I know that you are included in this. Whether you have outright lied or merely withheld some of the truth, I do not know, but I do know that it is my right as your first officer to have the whole truth."

Tikaral smiled for some strange reason. "I knew that I should have appointed someone less keen to be my Subcommander." She admitted, "Yes, I did withhold certain pieces of information, but they were for your own good. If the Empire were to hear that you had full knowledge of this, you could well be facing the _Kalso ichit Monlaya_." It went unsaid that the _Kalso ichit Monlaya_, which translated into "Punishment Worse Than Public Execution," was a fancy term for exile.

The subcommander stood firm, although he had to clasp his hands behind his back to keep them from visibly shaking. "I still wish to know."

The commander gave a look that voiced her silent approval at his courage. "Very well, then." She got up, wandering over to the mirror that was embedded into one of the walls. "Fairly soon after I made this into my rudimentary office, I found a hidden compartment, with some of the worst Ale I've ever tasted stashed inside. It was an ideal hiding place for _this_." She banged her fist on the mirror, making it swing open to reveal a cavity that had been made behind it. Reaching down into the well below the lower edge of the mirror, she pulled something out.

Subcommander Jergon was confused. All he saw was a standard-issue vacuum-sealed container, made to store small amounts of seeds and other objects, filled with some sort of greenish gas. "What is it?"

"This," the commander replied with an air of satisfaction that rivaled Jovit's whenever she was right, "Is a living being, one that, under normal circumstances, exists just out of phase with our time. You remember that my first assignment was on the _Klishhrekan, _one of the _D'deridex_ class?"

"I remember," Jergon replied, trusting that she'd explain why this was of any importance in the current matter.

Commander Tikaral went on to explain that the _Klishhrekan_ was the same warbird in the events that Eli would've recognized as the episode "Timescape" from The Next Generation, in which three of these creatures had featured. At the time, the Romulan Empire had been so embarrassed about the crew of one of their battleships having to be taken home by Picard&Co. like a small child that they'd effectively stifled all record of it, ordering the crew to speak of it to no one. They couldn't, however, keep the crew from remembering, and this particular Romulan made sure to remember.

Then, a couple years ago, Tikaral had been the captain of a ship that had encountered another of these beings. But she had come prepared, and managed to capture the creature, removing it before anyone else could find it. Since then, she had kept it in this container, learning more and more about how to control the creature to the point where she could actually move through time, and waiting for her chance to use it. And she'd found one in attacking this ship by removing it to a time where it would have no backup, and from a time that had not near enough technology to contend with their own.

What Commander Tikaral didn't mention was that she had not chosen this ship at random. Oh, definitely not. The _kiste'mra_ part-Klingon was the only thing that mattered. Once she presented him with the Federation ship and her current warbird, which would be far advanced in the eyes of an Empire thirty years behind her times, she would be respected, and honored as a legend, not merely the hero she had once been. She could be rid of these disorganized, rebellious vagabonds she was forced to call her crew, and have her Empire restored to its former, Federation-hating, Klingon-killing glory.

* * *

BACK IN OUR ORIGINAL TIMELINE, Subcommander Jergon considered simply confronting his captain. However, he had found taking command of the warbird while she was away, and attacking the Federation ship, where Commander Tikaral was, much more satisfactory. Who cared if it was mutiny? To Romulans, it was commonplace, and in this circumstance, the subcommander felt it was needed. 

After all, for all that Tikaral was a brilliant leader, he had the _kiste'mra_ in his brig and the superior firepower in his weapons array, not to mention shields and cloaking ability. He was guaranteed victory.

Silently observing the events of the last chapter was the creature out of phase with their time. Thanks to the work of his captor, he was in two timelines at once, which was very disconcerting. He was still fairly young for his species, and didn't know much about his powers, but eventually he had gotten a grip on himself.

At least, he thought he was young for his species. To be honest, he didn't remember much from before his captor had taken him away from the strange nest-yet-not-nest years ago, just enough to know that the carbon-based creature had taken him away from the others of his kind, and without his permission.

Then, she had poked him and prodded him with awful rays that made him do things to the carbon-based, made him move them to a different place in their time. Another universe, too, although the Tikaral didn't realize he wasn't quite the same thing as what she believed him to be. He couldn't remember what he himself was, just that he had a sister species, and that was the thing she'd met before.

But even as disoriented as he had been upon first being split, he had sensed a curious thing: that in both places there was a being not quite right for the time and space of the ships, just like him. He was sure that these Elis were the key to his freedom. They inhabited carbon-based shells, so they would be able to communicate with the others, and talk to them.

Then he'd found a slight rut in his equation: the Elis could not move through time on their own, so they could not find the strangeness, and find him. But that was no matter: he could just switch the two. The Tikaral did not know of the different-universe thing, so she would not think to look closely enough for the rays he would make among all the remaining time rays (AKA tachyon particles). But the Elis would notice, and that was what mattered, so that they would figure it out, and find him. He was sure the Elis could "relate" to his being lost in the wrong time, as the carbon-based ones would express such a thing.

So he'd used energy from both timelines, from the rays that hurt carbon-based (disruptor and phaser fire) and from the other a ray that had already made its Eli into energy (transporter beam), and switched them. Now, all he could do was wait for the rescues, so he could be released from these horrible cylinders and be one being in one place, just beyond what these people called linear time, with his own species once more.

* * *

Author's note: The chapter you just read is not in my opinion the best I've written, and this is after extensive editing I had to do in order to save it from the dark depths of mediocrity. It is much shorter than I'd like and the majority of it is people talking and crud, but it absolutely could not be made longer without also becoming real dang boring. So this is what you get.If you have questions, pm me or put them in a review and I'll answer ASAP. If I know the answer, that is :) 

The next chapter is definitely going to be constricted to one timeline or the other, and that's about all I know for now.


	8. One At A Time

**Chapter 8: One At A Time**

DISCLAIMER: Don't own Star Trek, but I do own the characters within this fanfic.

* * *

**TIMELINE A—ROMULAN BRIG**

IN OUR DEAR ORIGINAL TIMELINE THAT SHALL PROBABLY BE THE ONLY ONE MENTIONED IN THIS CHAPTER, the senior staff brig was finalizing their earlier predictions and coming to the proper conclusion, one that their companions in the alternate timelines had already come to: the Romulans were the ones that had mess with the space-time continuum. Of course, they didn't have an alternate Eli, but as soon as they reached their conclusion, something related happened: Sorick suddenly dropped to the ground, clasping his head.

Now, having the heritage of two different species that tend to very much like to hide any sort of negative emotion (other than anger on the Klingon side), Sorick was either in a lot of pain or very very surprised by something in his head, which would indicate insanity.

Captain Arandel knew all of the above, and was duly scared. "Sorick?! Are you all right?" she said, kneeling down to him.

Sorick looked at her, hands hesitantly coming off of his head. "I-I believe so. I am not sure. I feel the presence of another mind."

Sh'tas, expert on minds and telepathy, frowned and said, "But you weren't, and aren't, touching anyone. How can this be?"

Sorick gave her a slight glare, all the more indication that his mental walls of defense had been abandoned. "I am well aware that I am a touch telepath. Yet I still feel a mind, nonetheless."

"Is it attacking you?" The last thing they needed was a noncorporeal being taking over their physically superior chief medical officer

Sorick shook his head. "No. There is no savagery in this. It feels—like the marriage bond."

"The marriage bond?" Sh'tas asked in amazement, and moved down to Sorick's level. The captain vacated her space to make better room for the counselor then, the executive officer deciding that this was NOT where she wanted to be at the moment. "That's not possible. Your bondmate died, more than a week ago."

"It felt _like_ the marriage bond, as a general thing. It is not the same bond that I had with my mate," Sorick clarified. "And even for all its relationship to a marriage bond, it is not quite one, either. It feels…one-sided, as if the person was bonded to me, but not I to them."

Commander Jack Henson, not as acquainted with telepathy as he would've liked, still had enough knowledge of it for his eyebrows to furrow. "Even if a half-way bond were possible, how would you be able to feel it? No offense meant," he added, knowing under normal circumstances this would get him a rather dry reply, "but your heritage isn't exactly full telepathic Vulcan, and you said yourself, you aren't a part of whatever's going on."

"Ambassador Spock is half-Vulcan, yet he is a formidable telepath, is he not?" Sorick queried, still managing to drum up some dryness. "I am enough of a Vulcan to sense a marriage bond that is directed, at least in part, towards me."

Sh'tas took back over. "Whose mind is it? Can you tell?"

Sorick leaned back a little. "I am not entirely sure. I am only receiving passing glances at the consciousness—this mind is not a natural at telepathy."

Sh'tas murmured, "So not a Vulcan." Then she queried, "What are the passing glances of? Anything that could help us figure out who she is, or what kind of person?" It went unsaid that the mind belonged to a woman.

Sorick's eyes glazed over as he turned inside himself, staring fixedly at a point just above the counselor's right antennae. "There is many things. Music is very forward in her mind…she is literate…her thoughts are ordered, but her mind feels as if it was once in no order at all. But everything, every thought, every emotion is fierce…Eli!" He was suddenly rigid all over. "Eli!"

"_Eli?!"_ Commander Jack Henson was rightfully in a state halfway between confusion and outrage. "How is _that_ possible!"

"I don't know." Sorick looked slightly pale. "It just is."

**TIMELINE A—REGULAR PERSONNEL (& OTHERS)**

ON THE FEDERATION SHIP, Older-Eli and Co. had managed to spring themselves, and were crowded around a LCARS panel near the doorway, trying to figure out what in hell was going on.

"Computer, state status of shields," Gildar commanded.

The cool voice replied, "37 percent and falling."

"Reason?"

"Type 4 disruptors are being fired at the ship."

"The Romulans," was the surprised mutter.

"Why are they firing at each other?" Older-Eli bothered to ask.

"I would bet mutiny," Gildar stated. "Under their laws, if the Subcommander doesn't like how the Commander is doing things, he has the right to attempt mutiny, and whomever wins is Commander."

Older-Eli looked tenser than usual. "Oh. …Hey, what's the condition of _their _shields?"

Gildar turned to the computer. "Computer, state status of the Romulan warbird's shields."

"82 percent and holding."

"Well, looks like we're on the wrong ship."

The computer beeped. "Shields on both vessels have dropped."

_WTF???_ Even if Older-Eli was the only one who knew what those initials stood for, everyone was thinking pretty much the same thing.

"Why?" Gildar wondered.

The computer replied. "Probable cause: a transmission is being sent between the two ships. The incompatibility of technology between the two vessels requires that shields be dropped in order for a transmission of sufficient quality be sent."

Gildar had a sudden thought. "That means…we could transport someone over to their brig. Send them with medical supplies, decent food, et cetera, and help organize escape on that side."

All eyes turned on Older-Eli.

**TIMELINE A—THE ROMULANS**

COMMANDER Tikaral was furious at herself for not having noticed the warning signs that would've indicated to her the Subcommander's intent to mutiny. _Why didn't I NOTICE?!_

Of course, she'd been on the far inferior trophy ship. Thus, the ship that she had won by right of fair combat (her own commissioned ship having long since been taken away) was now firing at her, and it was the one with weapons thirty years their senior. Basically, unless she suddenly thought of some brilliant strategy or some leverage or something, she would never—

The commander smiled. Subcommander Jergon need not know the whole truth, she decided. Just a few of the facts. Rising from her position in Captain Arandel's chair, she ordered, "Hail the traitors."

A man with a rank roughly equivalent to a lieutenant's looked at her like she was crazy. "Would you dare surr—"

Tikaral wouldn't let him finish that word. "DO YOU BELIEVE THAT I, COMMANDER TIKARAL, HERO OF THE ROMULAN EMPIRE WHEN IT WAS IN ITS RIGHT MIND AND CHAMPION FOR ITS RETURN TO THE PROPER WAYS, WOULD _SURRENDER?!?!?!"_

He couldn't help protesting, "But that would mean lowering our shields…"

"I KNOW! THAT'S THE POINT, IDIOT! NOW, FOLLOW YOUR DAMN ORDERS!!!!"

He shut up. "On screen."

In the main viewer, the image of her treacherous subcommander appeared, defiling her chair of command with his presence. His face was quite intense. "What do you wish to speak to me of, former Commander?"

The word 'former' was like a slap across Tikaral's face. "You dare strip me of my rank?" she seethed at him.

The subcommander showed no signs of remorse at her disgrace. "You are endangering the mission. You would seem to know more about what transpires than any other, yet you refuse to share this information with any, not even me. One who keeps all in the dark is as bad as the Tal'Shiar."

Tikaral smiled suddenly, making Subcommander Jergon shift in his seat. "Is that what you believe? That, seeing as I am as bad as the Tal Shiar, you must blow me to pieces, and this—" she indicated what of the vessel he could see in the viewer, even dilapidated as it was, "—trophy ship?"

Jergon shifted slightly in his seat. He didn't like this. It sounded too much like his former commander had an agenda. Yet he still replied, "I have the part-Klingon _kiste'mra_ aboard my own ship. That creature is worth far more than any Federation vessel."

"What of going home? Is that worth less than the _kiste'mra_?" Tikaral asked, words falling into a sudden void.

"I do not see what you would mean to say."

Tikaral smiled. "Of course not. Let it suffice when I say: at least in part, your theories are true. I do know more than you about what is transpiring. I know the cause of our movement through time. It is…a device, that is capable of doing such feats."

Jergon's face hardened. "Then tell me where it is, or be blasted to pieces."

Tikaral laughed in his face. "Oh, dear boy, you have caught yourself in the classic trap. I will not tell you the location, for once you had the device, you would blast me to pieces anyway." Her expression hardened into a level of deadly that you only see in the eyes of vipers right before they strike, sinking their fangs deep into their prey and pumping poison deep into the heart of whatever poor beast they turn that face upon. "Out of mercy, I will tell you this: the control of this device is extremely difficult. It took me years to find out how to control it…and, I am sorry to say, I am the only one you will ever meet who has this knowledge. Destroy me, and you destroy any chances you would have of returning to that time which we call home."

Only silence came as a reply to the smiling Romulan.

**TIMELINE A—ROMULAN BRIG**

"…okay, so what's going on again?"

Commander Henson sighed. "No clue."

Lt-Cmdr Jovit looked annoyed, huffing and crossing her arms. "Well, then does anybody know what's going on?"

Captain Arandel traced a finger over one of the many curlicues that were smattered across her face, deep in thought. "I…I think I do…" She winced. "A monster of a headache is getting in the way, though. That last bump was a bit rocky."

Sh'tas looked around, as if all of a sudden disturbed by the peaceful atmosphere. "You know, the ship hasn't rocked in a while. Why'd they stop firing? Did they give up?"

"Or got blown up," muttered Boral darkly. He had long since decided that, in respect towards the inner workings of a Vulcan's mind, he had no idea what was going on, so for the last ten minutes he had been getting into a funk about what the Romulans could be doing to _his_ ship.

Now, at this point, things were getting mundane, so this story had, of course, one of its trademark sudden-appearance moments. Had the characters actually been able to break that fourth wall, they probably would've groaned, but they didn't, because they were just too exhausted, confused, and angry to care how many plot twists occurred, as long as they got their ship back, preferably without anyone they knew keeling over.

So, the sudden-appearance was this: Older-Eli transported into the brig, clutching two gray Starfleet cases, each emblazoned with the twining snakes and winged staff emblem of Starfleet Medical.

Captain Arandel goggled. "_Eli?_"

Sorick, whom had been rather busy in a corner sorting things out, answered for her. "Not quite."

Captain Arandel's eyes went wide, and she inspected the Eli in front of her closer. So this was the someone—or something, maybe—that had appeared in Sorick's mind?

Older-Eli sighed, raking her fingers through her hair. "I'm the Eli of a timeline that is fairly similar to yours. I'm also roughly eight years older than the Eli you know."

Captain Arandel had too much of a headache to hide her derision. "You expect me to believe that?"

Older-Eli was confused. "What reason do you have to not believe me?"

Arandel glared at her. "Maybe because Sorick can _feel your mind?!_"

Older-Eli blanched. "He can? Oh, no…"

"What do you mean, 'oh no'?"

"Look," Older-Eli said, trying to have a beseeching manner, "I can't tell you, because…because of the Temporal Prime Directive."

Captain Arandel, failing to notice that she was badgering Older-Eli and being riotously unfair, was not buying it. "Well, that sure is convenient for you, isn't it? We believe you, and you just get to sit with us, become our pals, learn our secrets. Are you some sort of genetically-modified Romulan? Or are you just some gaseous being, taking on the look of Eli?"

"Look—your crew back on your ship managed to spring themselves from their cells, and they were the ones who sent me here, with _medical supplies_ and _food._" Older-Eli lifted up the containers she was carrying. "The Romulans on the two ships were fighting each other, but they stopped to send transmissions, and because of the technology differences, they had to lower their shields, and we saw our chance."

Arandel waved a hand, dismissing the words as if they were cobwebs. "You expect us to believe that the Romulans were willing to lower their shields in order to _chat._" The captain completely failed to remember that Older-Eli had arrived in a transporter beam. "Just tell me how you've gotten _inside Sorick's mind!_"

"In the future, I'm bonded to him, all right?" Older-Eli screeched at the captain, having lost her cool. "That good enough for you?"

Sorick looked up then, his bruises and cuts coming into the light when before they were obscured. "You are?"

Older-Eli gasped, put her hand to her mouth; then, just as suddenly, the hand was back at her side, but she was biting her lip fiercely.

Then, as if the clouds over her personal sun had just cleared, Arandel saw and understood: how the Eli before her, in every part of her body, was desperate to tend to him, yet held herself back, because she knew, this wasn't the right person, however much they looked alike. Arandel felt shame now at all the accusations she had thrown at the woman before her; she knew that, had Sorick heard, it would probably be a long time before he could even talk to his Eli again; their friendship would end, and with it, any of the joys their Eli might have felt from such a relationship.

And as for Sorick…his face betrayed enough to show that there was a nuclear bomb going off inside him. He hadn't even known Eli for three whole days, so he'd never considered such a thing, and it obviously cause turmoil, to learn that such a thing was possible, with someone he could barely call friend…

Older-Eli lay one of the gray cases at Sorick's feet, avoiding his eyes. "Here are all the medical supplies you need to treat your wounds." She opened the other container, and pulled out something. "And this is for you to eat."

Sorick accepted the food, looked it over. "This shall suffice."

Older-Eli nodded, murmured "You're welcome," then went and sat on a nearby bench, where, ironically, in another timeline, an Eli had sat with her own Sorick, one that needed her, in ways this Sorick wouldn't want to think about.

* * *

AN: Managed to get on the computer of a relative in Key West and post this oh so exciting little chapter. More stable than the last, and some gasp-inducing stuff. Seems our Subcommander's got his arm in a twist there. A big twist. We'll see what happens...in two chapters. Because I simply and utterly refuse to alternate timelines within the same chapter anymore.

Okay, so next chapter: What did Sh'tas mean when she was talking about Jovit? What the heck is going on with OUR Eli? Will this next one manage to get posted within the year 2007? The answers to all that and more...next!


	9. Revelations, Stories, and Proverbs

**Chapter Nine: Revelations, Stories, and Proverbs.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek, nor have I ever actually been a part of the canon. I'm just a geek who watches the shows and looks up obscure details on Memory Alpha (star trek wiki, check it out).**

* * *

**29****th**** Century Earth**

**TIMELINE ???**

Soon after the turn of the century, a child was born that broke records, with a lineage of fifteen separate humanoid species. The girl, Ellyn, whom was primarily Cardassian and human, did not know it, but this bloodline practically guaranteed her involvement in a rather crooked organization.

So the girl grew into a healthy, well-rounded child, going through Starfleet, with a major in temporal mechanics, as many did in the years since the Timefleet was organized. However, she failed in one aspect, in that she did not actually qualify for Timefleet.

That was no matter, however; The Department of Temporal Investigations, the more undercover of the two agencies that dealt with time, had an eye on her, and invited her to join them. Being an innocent and trusting one, she did, and almost immediately was given an assignment: To go undercover and untangle a very tangled web of a time distortion, while not outright having any fatal effects on the Federation or others, but that put a large strain on the fabric of time itself.

Without a thought, she accepted.

It turned out that undercover, in their sense of the word, was very thoroughly undercover—Her very DNA was altered to be exactly like that of the Trill Jovit, the persona she was to take over. The Trill's memories were implanted, too, so that there would be no errors. It mattered little to the department that they were burdening a girl with Multiple Personality Disorder that she would have to deal with for the rest of her life; they needed an operative, and her DNA was radical enough to be changed, and still remain semi-plausible.

So Illyn Sampton became Lieutenant Commander Jovit.

**TIMELINE B—ROMULAN BRIG**

Captain Arandel looked from her Lt-Cmdr to her counselor, not quite sure what to believe. "Jovit? Is this true?"

Jovit looked down, meek in a way uncharacteristic to the woman they knew. "In a way…yes. Do you recall four years ago, when I was involved in that shuttlecraft accident, and you believed that I died?"

"Yes…"

"Well, I did." Jovit stopped, confused. "Or rather, Jovit did. The real Jovit. Y'see…I'm not Jovit. At least, not technically."

Arandel raised a brow Vulcan-style, indicating for her to continue.

"I'm an agent for the Department of Temporal Investigations in the 29th century. Or I was. I really haven't figured out yet." She sighed. "Your situation is…complicated, as you've guessed. So I was picked as an undercover agent. I underwent gene mutation and memory implantation, so I'd pass all your scans. Basically, I _am_ Jovit."

"Basically. Not the real one, though."

The Not-Jovit blushed. "The 'real one,' as you would call her, died in the shuttlecraft incident at Kentar IV. I was swapped with her corpse. I would promise that she was given a proper burial, but…with the questionable condition in which my Department was—or will be—in, there can be no guarantees."

Arandel was blandly surprised. "You do not support them?"

"I did not choose to go through this of my own will. My parents were threatened if I did not comply with their methods."

Eli frowned. "The 29th century doesn't sound very nice."

Not-Jovit smiled, a little. "It's about as nice as the 21st."

Eli winced, clarifying for the others exactly what that meant.

Arandel looked at Sh'tas, then. "And you knew about this?"

Sh'tas glared. "Yes. It would be hard not to, the state her mind is in."

"And what state _is_ your mind in?" This was directed at Not-Jovit.

"Well, y'see, the problem with memory implantation is that all your original memories are still there. Normally, that's good; you know what you're here for, you know what you should do. But, still…I have the memories of two different people in me." Not-Jovit spread out her hands in a gesture of innocence. "Mostly I'm Jovit, but sometimes…I can't help but turn back into the original me."

"Wait a sec…" Eli said. "Basically, you're telling us that you have multiple personality disorder, only your personalities are real people?" Eli put a hand to her head. "And now I don't even know if I was making sense. This is giving me a headache."

"It _always _give you a headache," Arandel replied, as if she had said it to Older-Eli a thousand times.

"Really?" Eli asked, genuinely interested. "I'll need to keep that in mind." She stole a look at Sh'tas. "Hey…why didn't you tell anyone?"

"Therapist-patient confidentiality," Sh'tas growled. "Unless the patient expressly admits to or says something that might interfere with their duties, I can't tell a soul about it." She glared at Not-Jovit. "An art at which she was practiced."

Not-Jovit shrugged. "My mom'll be a therapist, once she exists. You pick up things with that sort of background."

"What is your name, by the way? Other than Jovit." The captain seemed to be on some rocky ground between condemning and pitying the woman she was interrogating.

"Illyn Sampton."

Arandel gave out a long, long sigh. "Well, Miss Sampton, while I may not like being deceived, it looks like you have your own basket of rotten fruit. Besides, you should be very useful to us, now that we know who—and what—you are."

Illyn put her hands up. "Temporal Prime Directive."

"Oh, I wouldn't dare ask questions about the 29th century. But, you can tell us all you know about the intents and purposes of these Romulans. Since they're messing with our normal time, we have a right to know, right?"

Illyn was conflicted. "Well…"

"It's not as if whatever timeline they're from is guaranteed to be the same as ours."

"Fine." Illyn gave up. "As I've said before (more subtly, though), they're from thirty years into their version of the future, where Romulans and the Federation have had an ever-improving relationship since the Dominion War. Commander Tikaral, the woman who captains this ship, does not agree with imperial policy."

Eli could see that. "Probably something about 'returning to the old ways?'"

Illyn nodded. "She was a bit of a hero before, then stripped of her command when she became outspoken about the Empire's policies. So she gathered a crew of like-minded people, commandeered a ship, and had been out looking for targets for a little while when the entire bundle disappeared. Became a big mystery, that."

"So we're dealing with desperate renegades that got a hold of time travel technology?" Captain Arandel didn't like this, quite obviously. "Well, cr—" she stopped herself just in time, and with a look at Boral, continued, "So, how are we supposed to defeat them?"

"'The most impenetrably-armored dragons can become prone, if the weakness is for a weaker dragon. Look for the weak one, for they shall know how to save the stronger,'" quoted Illyn, for all the planets looking like some sort of freaky trans-time, trans-species sage with questionable religious and moral standing.

"Gesundheit!" Eli cried. "What the heck was that?!"

Illyn shrugged. "Search me. That's what I was told when I was asked."

Boral thought. "It sounds like some sort of proverb to me." He looked over his shoulder at Sorick, whom had been busy doing something or other in a dark corner. "Maybe from your species, Mr. Vulcan?"

Sorick shook his head even as he kept his eyes trained on his shoes. "That is _not_ a Vulcan saying."

"Well, all we can hope is that whatever the heck it's supposed to be, it's sound advice," Eli commented, scratching her head.

Arandel nodded. "Hmm…is that all we've got to go on?"

Illyn shrugged at the lack of hard tactical data. "All I know is that, and that you shouldn't try to blow either ship up."

Arandel raised an eyebrow, making her skin patterns change shape. "And this wasn't mentioned first because…"

"Well, that saying-thing was stuck in my head."

"Right," Arandel said, voice as sharp with sarcasm as cheddar cheese is with flavor. "So, why shouldn't we try to blow either ship up?"

"I'm not entirely sure. But the readings they had on this situation were that, for the version that it happened to in my timeline, a fight broke out, fire was exchanged, one or the other of the ships blew up, which was a catalyst to BOOM BANG FIZZ." She threw her arms wide, back in, then out again to make her point on the drama of it all. "Like a temporal mushroom cloud, only this one messed up time for this version of the galaxy."

_I don't see how that would change Earth much,_ Eli thought to herself, considering the 'similarities' between current and cool flare jeans and the old, outdated bell-bottoms of the 60's. (In case you didn't notice, everything is similar—except for being renamed flares and not coming in as bright a range of colors.) _But still…time generally equals not good to mess with._

"So, what exactly would that mean?" Boral asked. "People suddenly meet their great-grandparents, or the children they've never had, or…?"

"No," Illyn replied, before correcting, "Well, yes, at first. But then the entire structure and integrity of space would start to crumble. Which is followed by a fwooshing sound as the galaxy collapses in on itself, killing everyone in it. Then a bigger fwoosh as the entire universe is destabilized. The damage, luckily, doesn't spread farther than that, but that's obviously enough to cause some concern."

"Yes, obviously." Sorick was the master of dryness, and would not let it be forgotten.

* * *

**...And that's all you're getting of this timeline for today. Next chapter will focus on timeline A again, where there will be a very nice scene that the author very much wants to write, so in all likelihood that one will be out soon. (This isn't supposed to be a monthly fanfic, but to my shame, it has become so.) There is no promise that the plot will advance any great deal in the next chapter (like it did in this one), but, as we all know, tensions are high as Commander Tikaral and Subcommander Jergon vie for power, their 'noble quest' pretty much left to rot in peace. However, we must remember that they don't know that destroying one ship or the other will-eventually-cause the universe to implode. DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUN...**

Author's note: I'm really tired, but that's mainly because it's very late at night. Lately, I've only been able to make myself write at night, and most of that has been taken up by my uber-preparation for a new ST fanfic I'm planning to post. (Unlike Fierce In Peace, I want to be several chapters ahead in posting for this one, so that I can make my mental deadlines.) So, I'm sorry, but I've been a lazy butt. I will try to get the next chapter together sometime soon, but as I said, I've only gotten my inspiration to write late at night, and I'm supposed to be fallling asleep earlier, so that when school comes back around, and I have to wake up at 5:30 AM again every morning, I won't be completely zonked out by the lack of sleep.

In other words, I kind of like this chapter, in a weird way. The first part was sort of pasted on right around the time I got to the headache line of the second part. I didn't want to add it, but it seemed necessary, so I did, and gave it a fairy-tale-esque feel, I hope. The end of the chapter is abrupt, yes; but that's because I suddenly got tired, decided I should go to bed, and, looking at the length, said, "eh, long enough. chapter nine is done." And so it is. The thing I like, basically, is that I got to put in lots of cool metaphors (or variations of metaphors) in there. I lurve metaphors X) But enough of that. It is high past time I went to bed, so I've got to finish up here, so I can get my butt to bed (hopefully, within the hour). Good night! _--slumps, zonked out of her mind, and snores loudly--_ snrrrrrkk...

EDIT AT NEARLY NOON, NEXT MORNING: I made a slight edit, because I realized that stupid me had given Older-Sorick the wounds he'd never received. Now, he's just sulky, but I'll take what I can get. Bye-bye!


	10. What Goes Around

**Chapter 10--What Goes Around**

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**TIMELINE A—ROMULAN BRIG (AGAIN)**

Sorick and Older-Eli had somehow managed to be thrust together. This caused no end of embarrassment for the human, because she had been A) married to his older counterpart and B) messing with his mind without knowing it. However, the mostly-Vulcan in this situation had become, as usual, only curious. Dangerously curious.

"If it is not too forward," he began, "may I ask how the other version of myself and you managed to become mates?"

_It is too forward,_ Older-Eli thought to herself, though she quickly buried it. As she hadn't been a natural telepath, she had no idea just how much of her mind he could see. She felt that he was due an answer, though, just not the one she wanted to give. She was surprised that he'd asked at all. "Well…in our version of events, about a year from now, he had the, err…," she dropped her voice, just to make absolutely sure no one could hear them, "…the time that comes around once every seven years for Vulcans."

"Aah," Sorick said. There was not much else to say to _that_.

"He retreated into his room, and I was concerned about him, so I…forced my way in, you could say."

Sorick nodded. "You beamed in."

Older-Eli looked at him, wonderingly. "Yes! I knew enough about his nature to assume that trying to get him to open his door would be futile." She added, with a sarcastic smile, "As a reward, I nearly got a _d'k tahg_ embedded in my face, but still. It was the more logical option."

Sorick nodded. "Go on."

Older-Eli took a breath. "Then, when I figured out what was wrong with him…well you've got to understand," she elaborated, blushing a little, "That I was more than halfway in love with him already. And I knew what it was he was going through, that he either had to take a mate or fight some poor person to the death. He'd been trying to meditate his way through it, but…I kind of ruined his chances in that area, with my abrupt arrival." She blushed, a little. "So, the way I saw it, either he went and had a fight to the death with someone, or…he mated with me."

Sorick noted, "I cannot believe he took that well."

"He resisted, all right." Older-Eli smiled a little at the memory. "But I pointed out that there was no planet Vulcan in this particular universe, and that I was willing. I knew the consequences. So…we became mates."

Sorick asked, "Were you happy?"

Older-Eli stared at him with a face that clearly said, _you're asking me if I was happy. Really now._

"I am just curious," Sorick clarified, because there was no way he could've misunderstood that look. "While my counterpart may be unemotional, you would be, seeing as you are human. It is a valid question."

"Yes, it is a valid question," Older-Eli replied, distractedly brushing her hair out of her face. "All too valid." She eyed Sorick, wondering at him, but he did seem merely curious. Besides, it was comforting, in an odd way, to talk to the younger version of her husband about things she'd never bring up with the real one. "Well…not exactly, at first."

"Please elaborate."

"For one, I was eighteen, almost nineteen. Most humans aren't ready to get married at that age. For a long time, I was really insecure, which was new for me. I had never been insecure, but then, all of a sudden, I was a wife, who couldn't do any of the things I had been told wives are supposed to do." She sighed. "I was all of a sudden worried over whether I was pretty, about what I wore, money…things that no one else understood, because to them, it was outdated concepts. Those sorts of things mattered less than they had to the world with which I was familiar. Sometimes, I'd wonder if I had been mistaken in mating with him. I certainly hadn't known what I was getting into like I thought I was. So for a while, it was really rough."

She smiled a little. "Things are better now, though. It was just…too early. We were lucky, we worked it out. But it could've too easily gone bad."

Sorick nodded. "I see." He would be keeping this in mind.

**TIMELINE A—SOMEWHERE DEEP WITHIN THE JEFFRIES TUBE OF THE FEDERATION SHIP**

Ensign Gildar Rathana thrust the portable thoron generator into the Ktarian woman's hands. "You said you knew some Maquis tricks. Now, do whatever it use that you do to make us invisible to the sensors, before they sweep this area again!"

The woman looked at the cylinder in her hands as if it were a poisonous snake. "Not that many! I was only in for a little while, and that was years ago!"

"Well, remember what you do know, or else you'll be face-to-face with a Romulan disruptor!" Rathana bawled. "We have less than a minute left!"

The woman snapped to attention, almost as if she couldn't help it, and started pressing buttons and twisting things. She stumbled once or twice, turning it the wrong way and making it light up like a Christmas tree, but she managed to get it going with five seconds to spare.

Rathana leaned back, emotionally exhausted. "Well, that wasn't so bad."

The woman beside her, however, was on the verge of crying. "I can't do this! I don't remember enough!"

Rathana eyed her. "You remember fine," she told the other woman. "It's your nerves that are the problem. What's your name, by the way?"

"Tilineskobarm," the Ktarian snuffled. "But you may want to call me Tiline, like my mother, or Tili, like my non-Ktarian friends—"

Rathana smiled at that, waving a hand to stop the babbling. "Well, Tili, you and me are going to be as slippery as Cardassian voles, okay? We're doing most of the work, since the others wouldn't even begin to know what the heck to do. At least _we _have an inkling."

Tili nodded. "Um…what are we doing by the way?"

Rathana resisted the urge to roll her eyes, because it probably wouldn't help Tili's self-esteem. "Sabotaging the ship. Now, hand me that molecular scanner, will you?"

Tili hesitated a moment before picking an object up out of the toolkit. She held it out experimentally to the engineer.

"That's it." Rathana smiled, taking it from Tili. "Now, could you look for the other half of it, please? It came apart somehow." _When she dropped it down three decks, most likely_, the Bajoran thought to herself. _But that need not be mentioned._

Tili blushed, but looked around in the bag. She came up with a triangular-shaped thing. "I-Is this it?"

Rathana nodded, taking it and reconnecting the two parts. "There. Good as new. Now, let's get to wreaking some havoc on those pointy-eared buggers, huh?" _Finally._

TIMELINE A—ROMULAN BRIDGE 

Jergon was having a talk with his followers. "Think," he implored them. "Think as you have always been taught to, in the ways passed down from our first ancestors. What can we do to escape our current situation? Remember, the enemy knows how to think in the secret ways as well."

His crew looked utterly stumped. Not good.

Then one man, one of the more blunt ones, volunteered, "I think we should kill the _kiste'mra_ we've got in the cell, then give them the body in exchange for the stuff ter gut us home."

Jergon blinked, surprised at the readiness at which the Centurion would kill, but not entirely displeased.. "How would that help us any, other than our getting home? We're still condemned criminals with no proof."

"Ay," the Romulan replied with a toothy grin. "But we bloodied him up earlier. If we've got leftover blood, we've got genetic material. Proof."

"No, we don't," a whip of a young woman said darkly. "We cleaned up the area to make into a temporary ward fer the ones that got hurt by that abomination. The blades are most like with the cook now, and ye know how mindless that oaf is; he'll have cleaned them by now."

Jergon thought. "What if we were to kill him with an honor blade? It would require challenging him, though."

The blunt Romulan backed away a little. "I don't have any grounds to challenge. I'm not risking my eternal damnation on some part-breed!" The others seemed to be in coordination.

Jergon's fool mouth said for him, "I think I have grounds, reasonable ones. I'll challenge him. Then we'll get the outcome we want. May the stars fall in our favor."

"May the stars fall," the others murmured, ending their conversation. They returned to work, glad to have escaped having to dance blades with a mostly-Vulcan.

**TIMELINE A—FEDERATION SHIP BRIEFING ROOM**

"Hello," Tikaral cooed to her little pet as she removed it from the hidden alcove where she'd found a stash of alcoholic drinks. She'd refrained herself from drinking them, however, as they offered a disguise. Even if the ship were ambushed and searched, and somehow they found this cleverly concealed compartment (for all that it was Starfleet, she would admit that it was clever), if they did not outright search for something, all they would see was bottles. It was not much of anything in the way of concealment, she knew, but it could be all she needed to keep things going her way.

The thing in the jar fluctuated a little as she moved it; it did not like being moved through standard space, it was too confusing.

"There, there," the commander soothed it. "We can't have you getting agitated, now can we? Because we need you to do your job when the time comes. I will not be beaten again. I will not be forced to go down upon my knees again in front of that traitorous man, who would have called himself my second-in-command, usurping my position, stealing my prizes—" she stopped, realizing she had been setting herself into an emotional frenzy. She calmed again. "We'll just have to prevent that, now won't we?"

The time-creature seemed to fluctuate in agreement.

"That's my boy. Now, let's put you back in the dark, now, shall we?"

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: You know, with all this late night posting, I sometimes forget just how awesome a chapter was. I'm definitely getting a bit better at writing. (I wonder if this explains why my chapters have been shorter recently? Hmm...) And I'm getting better at naming chapters, I've noticed. Definitely better than "Chapter 1," anyways. And, I keep forgetting this, but thank you everyone! I really like that you liked Chapter 8; it did have some really good stuff in it. ...aaaand now I feel like I'm too cocky. Updates uber-soon, okay? And RedtailRathan, I'm sorry, I'm a jerk, please forgive me, I'm getting to it, but I had to read stuff for real-life school that I put off, and there's been...other things. (Others, assume this is an explanation of why I'm such an erratic updater.) Also, look for any updates to me and my life (including my second story ever, if any of this interests you) on my profile page. Bye:) 


	11. Differences

**Chapter Eleven: Differences**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Star Trek, but I do own the characters of this fanfic, the end.**

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**TIMELINE B—ROMULAN BRIG**

The senior staff had just consigned themselves to being bored and unenlightened when Subcommander Jergon made an unexpected visit.

"Hello," he drawled, in a voice so superior-sounding that it caused everyone in the brig to feel slightly ill. "I have been ordered to check on your condition. Is everyone still alive? Unharmed?"

"You could say that," Arandel said, voice like ice. She did not like people who snuck up behind her and hit her on the back of the head, especially when they came back before the bump stopped hurting. "We had an addition to our ranks."

The Subcommander gave Eli a once-over, not showing much interest. "Yes, the spy. I suppose you thought that we wouldn't discover that she was married to the traitor? Pity you underestimated us."

"They didn't," Eli snapped at him, in spite of herself. (Why was it so easy for her to yell at this man?!?!) "They believed you to be arrogant pigheaded extremists whom claim to have intelligence."

The Subcommander was outraged. "You would do better than to say lies about those who hold the end of your leash, _human_."

"I'm not lying," Eli told him with fierce pride. "You may think you have intelligence. Tactical knowledge, ability to build weapons—yes, you have those. But are you _wise?_ Can you truly claim to know what you are doing when it comes to humans?"

"Obviously, due to your state, I know enough," the Subcommander replied, amused by this little show.

"Well, if you're so smart, if you're so superior that you can't take a helping hand from our inferior species, why don't you take a stab at our problems? Right now, on that planet," she jabbed a finger in the direction of the porthole, where the edge of the Earth could just be seen, "There is a region called Darfur where people are killing each other in mass groups, just because they are different. How would your Empire handle that, huh? How?"

Subcommander Jergon was truly taken aback. "We would send in ground troops, state martial law, and ensure that they did not have the resources to fight each other."

Eli laughed. "That's by your rules. But what if they don't comply? Just because they don't have weapons doesn't mean they can't still hurt each other. Sticks and stones still hurt, and there's no way you could gather all those up. And what if both sides decide to put aside their blood argument and obliterate _your_ people from the face of the planet? We aren't Romulans! We don't heed to sense, we don't always follow the stronger side! No matter what, we want things our way, and we have always been willing to die to make that happen."

"You would do well to keep a civil tongue in your head," Jergon snapped. "I would do well to slap you."

"Go ahead," Eli told him, lowering her voice to a deadly level. "Just be prepared to have my boot crunching down on your face if you do."

The Subcommander glared at her. "You shall be punished." And with that, he walked out of the room.

**TIMELINE B—FEDERATION BRIG**

Rathana was so focused on the task at hand that she nearly jumped an entire meter when someone said, "Is it done yet?"

"Not yet," was her terse reply. "I still have a few more things to do. We've got to make sure that the bridge doesn't catch us at it."

"Right," said the voice below, not comprehending.

Rathana rolled her eyes, but resisted giving a sarcastic reply. It wasn't their fault that she was the only engineer. _That_ was the fault of the Romulans, and they were going to get theirs pretty soon, so she was patient and withheld her snarky comments.

The unsure voice came back again. "I thought these cells were escape-proof."

Rathana wanted to say, _Just like nothing intelligent can escape your mouth? _She restrained herself, barely. "That _was_ true eight years ago, when we left Utopia Planitia. However, eight years _have_ passed, during which we engineers have become well-acquainted with these cells. I can get us out."

"Okay," the voice said, doubtfully.

Rathana thought she would scream.

**TIMELINE B—ROMULAN BRIG**

Subcommander Jergon had returned, but with friends.

"You." He pointed at Eli. "Come."

Eli didn't rise from the bench where she was seated. "I'm not a dog, or whatever kind of creature you Romulans keep as pets."

"Obviously, you are not. If you were, you would have teeth." The Subcommander flashed _his_ teeth, to make his point. "Now, comply, or be vaporized."

Reluctantly, Eli stepped up to the forcefield. "What do you want?"

"You shall accompany me to your punishment," he said, with a small smile. Eli noticed that he made a quick glance at the honor blade he was fingering at his belt. "A prisoner insulting their keeper is a serious matter. They cannot merely be allowed to go unpunished. Your skin shall feel my blade, and perhaps that of the others." His cronies grinned widely, and not in the friendly sense.

And for the first time, she believed that the Subcommander was being serious, and was afraid.

**TIMELINE B—ROMULAN BRIG (AGAIN)**

Subcommander Jergon was not surprised to find himself smiling. He was a man of his word, first and foremost; he had said he would punish the girl, and he would. It was that simple, he told himself. Nothing else mattered—nothing the girl had said mattered to him. There was no room in his heart except for the glory of his Empire and his honor, he repeated to himself.

Subcommander Jergon was a very good Romulan. At least on the outside.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE:...Hokay, let's explain the title, shall we? It probably doesn't make sense, but I ran out of inspiration for a title because today is Sunday and I have this psychological association with Sundays that makes me unable to do anything creative. So...the chapter is titled "Differences" because we see how things are going very...well, differently from how things in Timeline A are happening. Whether this is good or bad, I've no idea. ...I can't think of anything else to say, so see you next chapter! 


	12. Centered

**Chapter 13: Centered**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Star Trek or any of its affiliates, the mountain and circle-of-stars people have that privilige. The characters within this fanfic, and the fanfic itself, is mine, however. that's just how it is.

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**TIMELINE A—ROMULAN READY ROOM**

Subcommander Jergon placed himself awkwardly in the chair behind the desk, one that had been, until recently, the sole property of Commander Tikaral.

It was not a very comfortable chair. For some reason, he was bothered by this.

_Why should I be bothered?_ Jergon asked himself. _No Romulan chair is comfortable. In fact, this one is rather close to comfortable._

Perhaps, of the two, chair and Romulan, it was the man that was more discomforted. He could not help it; it seemed as if recently, doubt had been clouding his mind, doubt he could not trace to its origin, doubt that he could not track down and kill where it stood. It was almost as if they weren't his own thoughts, even though in his heart he knew them to be his and his alone.

_Ever since the Commander collapsed._ That was it! That was when the monster had started. He could remember that odd incident; he and his commander had been making rounds, when her head suddenly disappeared from his peripheral vision. But—there she had been, on the floor, panting a little, it was only a slight moment of weakness, no one else had seen it but him and she had not repeated it, yet still at that moment he remembered wondering _if she had gone back before._

He shook his head and collected himself. These were not appropriate thoughts, and under normal circumstances he would have to start his centering all over again. But time was short for him, and he decided he was ready. He strode out the door.

**TIMELINE A—ROMULAN BRIG**

Older-Eli was the first to notice it. "Do you hear something?"

Clunk clunk clunk clunk.

"Yes…" Jack Hensen replied, cocking his head. "What _is_ that?"

Clunk clunk clunk clunk.

"Metal on metal," commented Sorick. "Several objects are clanging against one, and there is a unified rhythm. The logical conclusion would be that some sort of ceremony is being conducted."

Clunk clunk clunk clunk.

"It's coming closer," Jovit warned. "That's not good!"

Clunk clunk clunk clunk.

Captain Arandel looked around the cell. "We need to hide Eli. If they find her—"

"—they won't be finding me, then." Older-Eli looked down. "Maybe these benches open up?"

_Clunk clunk clunk clunk._

No go on the first bench.

_Clunk clunk clunk clunk_. The procession (or whatever it was) must have rounded a corner, because the rhythmic clunking was much more acute.

The second bench didn't yield any results either.

_Clunk Clunk Clunk Clunk_.

Yes! The seat of the third and final bench lifted away to reveal a deep recess semi-filled with various objects with sharp, hard, and/or once-alive properties.

Older-Eli recoiled at the smell. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea."

_Clunk Clunk Clunk Clunk!_

Jovit solved Older-Eli's indecision by pushing her from behind into the compartment. "Just get in already!"

Older-Eli was barely able to comply before her fingers got smashed by the seat crashing home on top of her.

_CLUNK CLUNK CLUNK CLUNK!_ Then silence.

Although the fact that she was inside a bench effectively muffle most sounds, Older-Eli was fairly sure the _clunk_ers had reached their destination, and furthermore that said destination was the very brig she was in, because she could just barely make out a distinctly Romulan voice.

Sorick was replying now. Why was he of all people replying?! He couldn't afford to have any more attention on him than there already was!

The Romulan again.

The captain yelled something! What was she yelling?! Something about a "challenge"?!

Older-Eli strained her ears, but she couldn't hear any more than murmurs, so soft she was not even sure whom spoke them. Then, after an eternity, there was a muffled clunk, and blinding light filled the small space as the seat was pulled up again. Hands she could not see the source of pulled her out. She blinked, trying to adjust her vision, saying, "Jovit? That you? What happened?"

It was Jovit, but she did not reply. The look on her face said that perhaps she was incapable of such a thing.

Older-Eli's stomach dropped as, looking around, she notice one person was absent. "Where's Sorick?"

Arandel alone dared answer, her eyes sad. "The Subcommander challenged Sorick to an honor duel to the death." She paused. "He accepted."

* * *

A/N: Yup, this is probably the shortest chapter there is, but I couldn't do much about that. It's a bridge piece, really; it reveals some deeper insight into the characters, and connects this event to that event, but it's not like it's this big ol' event. And, I wanted to post this within the month of October, but obviously I failed. And I wanted to get it out before I went of on a mini-holiday for the voting weekend.

Anyways, because I haven't really done it before, THANK YOU to all those people who have favorited me, my story, or put on their alerts list, etc. These wonderful people are Redtail Rathan, Tosann, Furgle, Brownriderco, Levikna Chekov, Lilith Kayden, airis-mcs, firebirdgirl, purplebrat18, neur0mancer, and Allergic-to-Paradox. It really inspires me to think that I'm actually writing _for_ somebody, not just my own sulf-fulfillment (although that is of course important). I'll try to get Chapter 13 up within the month of November, because a really awesome scene is going to occur that I think you'll like :) So, until then, goodbye!


	13. Breaking The Chain

Chapter Thirteen: Breaking The Chain 

**DISCLAIMER: All these characters are mine. Their various species, technology, and the overall idea of the Star Trek universe is not mine. The idea to--for some odd reason--place a NYC orphan who tries desperately not to be a Mary Sue is, however, all mine.

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TIMELINE B—ROMULAN BRIG 

Eli was so up to her neck in problems that the only words that could describe it would cause the maturity rating of this story to go up several degrees.

"Come on," Commander Jergon said with a condescending smile. The green shade of the force field between them made him look even more acidic than he already was. "You could not possibly believe that I would spare you your promised punishment just because you used fine words?"

"Well—yes," Eli stammered. Having drawn a complete blank on clever quips but still feeling obligated to talk back to him, she found she could only speak the truth.

Jergon chuckled. "I will grant you, you humans are _quite_ amusing. But we must get on with things now, hmm?" He turned to his centurions. "Dal'enn, you bring down the forcefield. Everyone else, choose a prisoner and keep your crossbeams on them." He demonstrated by pulling out his own disruptor and leveling it at Eli's heart.

The centurions snapped to, and the ne called Dal'enn took his place behind the console. "Forcefield coming down in five, four, three, two, one—" Everything was suddenly less green, and the Romulans once again assumed their only slightly green-tinted pallor.

Which was when Sorick stepped forward. The Centurion that had her disruptor trained on him yelped in surprise, obviously dismayed that she might actually be called on to be able to shoot her Vulcan target. Fortunately for her, however, Sorick stopped a decorous distance away from the Commander.

"Have something you wish to say, _kiste'mra?_" He stole a glance at Sorick, but not for one moment did his gun waver.

"Yes, for I am not so foolish as to not heed the warning given me," Sorick replied, the slightest hint of a snarl in his words, only detectable because of the nature of his comment. Eli felt like she were watching the hackles rise on a dog, and wondered if it was wrong to be delighted with him for being illogical.

Subcommander Jergon was wary of Sorick now, and his eyes were calculating as he turned them fully on Sorick. (He still kept Eli in both his crosshairs and the corner of his eye.) "Well then. What is it?" Mock courtesy suited him well.

Sorick's face was Vulcan-level deadpan as he replied, "I propose that you swap the human with me."

While Eli was busy staring at Sorick like he was a crazy man (which he was), the Subcommander was doing much the same thing, actually _raising his eyebrow_, of all things. "You're offering up yourself in place of her."

Sorick's visage remained noncommittal. "I am more likely to…endure whatever punishment you have deemed necessary for her. This way, I may have my comrade unscathed, and you may have a greater number of political prisoners. Or slaves, if that is your final intention for us. Either way, the good of the many outweighs the needs of the few." He shot Eli and Captain Arandel both looks as he said this, making them freeze in their thoughts that were already forming protests.

Eli felt like smacking him. _Stop using Spock quotes to make me agree with you, you…you mostly Vulcan prick!_ She thought. She looked over at Captain Arandel; unfortunately, she too seemed tripped up by the quote.

Subcommander Jergon was actually in conflict over this. "But…she is the one who did the deed. Other than the wrongs of your ancestors in the so-called 'Time of Awakening,' you have done nothing against the Romulan Empire. She may be your wife, but I cannot believe you to be one whom throws himself in front of every blow aimed at those he knows."

Sorick was impassive. "I, however, agree with the sentiment of the words, and might have said something similar, if not with such passion. From a Vulcan, is that not an equal evil to hers under your laws?"

Sorick was surprised. "It is." He fluctuated a moment, then said, "Then, if you truly wish to undergo punishment, so be it. Step out, slowly."

Sorick complied, slowly.

Eli began to step forward. "But, Sorick—"

Sorick glanced back at her, pausing. "What?"

Eli gave up any protest she was going to have. She wasn't going to stop him. "…I'm going to owe you know, aren't I?"

Sorick considered a moment, a slight glint of amusement coming into his eyes. "Yes. I suppose you shall." He continued his slow, even walk, falling in with the Romulans. The forcefield came up just behind his heels, and as he walked out the door, Illyn summed up everyone's feelings on the subject:

"Well, shit."

**TIMELINE B—SOMEWHERE WITHIN THE BOWELS OF THE FEDERATION SHIP**

Rathana felt like screaming again. If it weren't for the fact that she was far too busy trying not to be killed by the Romulans, she would've put herself out of her misery by now.

She had thought she'd chosen a guy who was smart; this guy was famous for his chess game, provided he wasn't up against a Vulcan or a member of any particularly un-sportsmanlike species, so she thought maybe he'd have a good tactical mind.

He threw his hands up at her. "I have a photographic memory! I read a few books on chess strategy that had lots and lots of pictures, and…boom. Instant visualization of what to do. Works out pretty well, actually."

"So you must remember what you read back in your Academy engineering class."

"Well…there weren't all that many pictures in it."

"So what? Photographic memory isn't picture-specific!"

He hung his head. "…But, I'm dyslexic. So, I remember the words, just not necessarily the way they were written."

Rathana smacked her forehead with the heel of her hand. "Just…just try, okay? Tell me what you remember seeing, and I'll see if I can decode it."

"All right…you sure about this?"

"Yes…now, do you remember the chapter about ship command controls? It was the one with the picture of a captain at the beginning of it."

**TIMELINE B—ROMULAN BRIG**

"Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit…" was the constant mutter from the corner where Illyn sat, plotting, in a way she had obviously gotten from her Jovit-ness. She had hardly stopped cursing since Sorick had left, occasionally switching to worse language—or what Eli assumed was worse, because they were neither in English nor any of the curses in other Earth languages she had collected during her younger years. It was pretty obvious that the plotting was not going well.

The room was otherwise silent; the rest of the crew, having come up with average, 24th century answers that had been shot down immediately by Illyn, had resigned themselves from the brainstorming race and had resumed their previous cell-bound hobby: finding shapes in the various dents and other marks making up the walls of their little prison. Aside from Illyn, only Captain Arandel seemed busy, pacing up and down while looking at her shoes.

Eli, meanwhile, was _attempting_ to think, unsuccessfully. Mostly she felt as if there was blood rushing from her head, only constantly. It was kind of like that time, when she first came to in the sickbay, and had somehow ended up standing on her bed, smiling at a doctor like a crazy person and demanding to know what the hell was going on in her life. That was pretty much exactly the feeling, if she was honest with herself; as if, by some way that was currently beyond her, she was constantly putting herself in the middle of events, making things fall around her, but not in the way she wanted to…

She subconsciously reached down and touched her IDIC pendant through her shirt, feeling it, remembering when she had come back to the sickbay, her thoughts having by then fallen back into some semblance of order, and having been recognized as a bowl of petunias at first by a tricorder because of this aluminum pendant. She smiled at the memory—

Her smile froze. _Aluminum._ The tricorders had gone haywire, because in the future there was transparent aluminum, and so most things weren't programmed to take its highly reflective qualities into account…she had a feeling that theory held for Romulan technology as well.

Eli rose, the previous blood-rush feeling and her current illumination were acting in combination at the moment to make her rather calm. She was pretty sure that it would break into a million pieces pretty soon, and she wasn't entirely sure she would like the feeling she got when that happened, but for now she was going with the flow. "Illyn?"

Illyn's head snapped around to look at Eli. "What?" She asked, crabby.

"You can stop cursing now. I've figured out how to get out." The blood-rush feeling was starting to fade, and she started to tremble a little. "You too, captain. You can stop pacing."

Every eye in the room was on her, but it was from the mouth below Jovit's that Illyn said, "What…?"

Eli raised her voice because it seemed necessary for the drama of the moment. "If everyone wouldn't mind stepping back from the forcefield? Also, on the count of three, you might want to shield your eyes. I'm betting it's going to be _really_ bright."

To no one's surprise, everyone obeyed her. It's actually best to do so when someone has a crazy look in their eye, and also when they look absolutely sure that they can spring you out.

"Okay." Eli took a breath, then pulled out her IDIC pendant. She yanked it off her neck, not bothering with the clasp; she would've fumbled too much. She slid the pendant off the broken chain and held it in her right hand, cocking her arm back as to get some good force going. "On the count of three, then. One…two…three!"

She threw the pendant at the forcefield.

The world exploded as the pendant hit the bright green wall of electricity, paint vaporizing on contact to let the beams touch the shiny metal underneath. They reflected off in all directions, leaving burn spots wherever they hit an exploding the lights on contact, throwing everything into a shadowy darkness for a split second. Then some of the beams reflected straight back at their source, and the resulting explosion was so bright that there were no shadows, only things illuminated by one bright, day-glow shade of green, with a huge crackling _SHOOM_ to act as its musical accompaniment. And finally, they were plunged into black, slightly burned-smelling darkness. (Note: If you've ever seen a transformer explode, forget this description and go by your personal experience of that.)

Silence.

"Ow,"commented Boral from somewhere in the shadows behind and to the right of Eli. "I'm going to see spots for years."

"Idiot," Illyn said, but there was an unmistakable tint to her voice that told them she was smiling. "She said you should cover your eyes."

"Well, I wanted to see it," Boral huffed. His tone was serious then. "Well, we're free of this hell-hole of a cell. Now what?"

Captain Arandel sounded slightly deflated. "A lot of running and hiding."

Eli probed, "To get Sorick, right?"

"And live," Illyn contributed.

"And get off this ship and onto our own," added Boral.

"And get back to our own time," a voice Eli didn't know put in.

"Without being Romulan prisoners," said Sh'tas.

"And in our own version of the universe," Eli voiced, for good measure. As long as they were voicing their goals, she thought it prudent to add her own concerns.

"Sounds like a good plan," Captain Arandel said, in a voice that both approved of their against-the-odds hopeful spirit while also trying to reign them in. "Now, let's start all that running and hiding, shall we?"

Never before that moment was a teenaged orphan from New York City who had been mixed up with a TV show come to life and transported into an alternate universe so happy to obey an authority figure.

* * *

A/N: Darn it, it's all shortish, again. I have to remember that the font my Word program is set to is really big...Anyway, after a month-long delay, Chapter Thirteen is here! In which we have the scene for which the chapter is named, and is supposed to be quite big. I'm not sure if I wrote it right, but here it is. Enjoy. 


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